15,16,17

1.                                                                                                                                                                                             15.  My cup runneth over,

and onto the floor, it floods out the basement, but still there is more. Inundacion, terramoto, disaster, fiasco, blessings and curses and cosmic karmic jokes, parasites and parasols protect us from ourselves, a whirling, swirling vortex, from whence does it pour, land of the free, where the poor are fat, and the rich are poor, our cup runneth over, and still we want more. What is it all for?

Thank you, may I have another?

  16.  Indidginous-

a murder of crows

and a loveliness of ladybugs

did didgeridoo one day.

whilst out by five rivers,

two girlz got the shivers

from riding too long in the rain.

in this strange world, what poisons us can be healing,

and what heals can harm.

hurting and healing, learning and growing,

finding some meaning, the hidden revealing.

  17.  April 19

my dreams,

dear to my heart,

unfolding like the buds of spring.

exploring the canyon,

deeper than before,

on a quest for otter, beaver, and lamprey.

found none, but the inevitable signposts

lead me onward.

fishing poles of childhood,

trillium fading, moss covered trees, fiddlehead ferns,

the aroma of skunk cabbage in full bloom.

a canada goose pauses to nibble.

raindrops reflecting in still water

an array of birds, wild and colorful,

the wood duck in full splendor

raucous calls and delicate songs,

blue heron, mallards

a large turtle plops into the water

floating, drifting

tiny, shiny head above

sunken carapace.

abstract sculptures

carved by crafty beaver,

the dam, long and winding,

across this watery haven,

shaping a new terrain.

the hand of man in concert with nature,

can create great beauty or great destruction.

arching bridges, cozy benches, bird houses and picnic tables.

limb lined trails with fresh red bark to cushion the step

and absorb the slippery mud.

at last the trail opens

into a meadow of grape hyacinth,

willows and roses. a neighborhood of houses,

prayer flags flapping in a breeze.

wild in the city

i return by way of a different path. somehow changed by my excursion. by a leaning cedar, i find a pair of rusty scissors, long forgotten, but still snippy. i will keep them as a memento. sand away the rust, and make them utile again. one must make room in one’s life for joy and pleasure. no need to count on others for fulfillment. a simple walk in the wilds of nature alone can inspire. i resolve to return again on fridays to explore anew, camera in hand. my quest continues.