winter weary

           winter weary

I am tired of wearing socks
     my beloved sandals sidelined

I am tired of heavy jackets
     cold freezing winds on my face

I am tired of icy sidewalks
     grungy dirty cars in need of washing

I am tired of the pain in my arm
     this damaged nerve so slow to heal

I am tired of naked trees
     small birds foraging for seeds

I am tired of electronic devices
     that refuse to function as they should

           *******
I am more than tired
      of political polarization

I am more then tired
      of hate and bigotry of others

I am more than tired
      of unfit and unstable leadership

I am more than tired
      of threats of nuclear war

                       I am more than scared

B o u g a i n v i l l e a T r i n i t y

                   Go ahead . . .

          show your three-partite
                bracts to the sun.

                 Delight the eye.

                       Fade . . .

                    then spiral
                   earthbound.

                Solar-powered
                    pinwheels.

IVORY SOAP

Memories come to surface, when allowed.

As a child, I wondered why the Ivory Soap invariably
would float in water. Ivory Soap, first came to the market
in 1879, claiming to be so pure (99.44% pure) that it
would float.

No matter how long I would hold it down . . . it still
would bob to the surface!

As a young person, I mourned for a long time over the
drowning death of a friend in the Red River of the North.
(The Red was formed by the flowing together of the
Ottertail and Bois de Sioux rivers. The Red River then
flowed north to Hudson Bay.)

I would sit on the bank of the Red- a special place to
pass the time and think.

Of the plethora of soap brands (Irish Spring, Dial, Coast,
Caress, Zest, Swan, Lever, Kiss My Face, Jergens,
Palmolive, Aveeno, Pure-Castille, Lux, Bon Ami, Lifebuoy)
is just to name a few.

For me,  IVORY stands out!

And for good reason . . .  it floats, and floating is good.

                        At times -
                                I still think of my friend's death.

WHITE

Cimicifuga
     still in bloom - even though the 
           calendar says mid-November.
     It's startlingly sweet fragrance
           commands attention.

When the breeze is just so . . . 
     neighbors walk over into our
           garden to
     seek out what
           smells that way.

Baneberry's reddish stalks, 
      adorned with white eyes and
             tiny black pupils, 
      appear to be on the search for
             their former neighbors -

      recently frost-bitten.

Plants with ever-new potential -
             but, at least for now,
      calmly await

             the white flakes of winter.

The Gift of An Hour

The shift from daylight time to standard time in these waning
days of Autumn, gives us the gift of an additional hour.

               And how might you use your gift ?

    You could take a nice long afternoon nap.

    You could bake a large batch of chocolate chip cookies
         and while still warm, share some with a neighbor.

    You could offer to rake the leaves from a
         neighbor's front lawn.

    You could connect with a friend and say
         how much the person means to you.

    You could greet people whom you don't know
         . . . with a smile.

    You could engage in acts of kindness and hold doors
         open for others or relinquish your place in line
         for someone.

    You could make a steaming hot cup of cocoa and
         sit by a window.

    You could take someone dear to you -
         out for lunch or dinner.

    You could begin reading that new book you
         haven't found time for.

                      You could even write a poem - or two !

S O S A D

Can't forget 19 days of
   totally grey, overcast sky.

Curiosity won over waiting
   but only at first.

How long can this go on?
   Is this what SAD* is
      all about?

Is the world
   broken?

It wasn't that there wasn't a
   total absence of blue.

Once in a while, a jay would
   wildly fleet through,
      stopping only to
         harass a few winter creatures
            that frequent our back garden.

All of a sudden, following the
   456 hours of grey-
       the sky parted
          just a bit to
             show blue.

Only to swiftly shrink away and
   close up.

Not until
   nearby neighbors
      rushed into the street - pointing
         away from the earth.

I joined them.

Together, we surmised whether or
   where blue would be
      seen again.

I wished it would return.

Wherever it went
   I will surely wish
      to follow.

Is it too much to have hope it
   would linger until
      the Killdeer
         call again?


                              *Seasonal Affective Disorder

Too Short

I still find each day too short for
all the thoughts I want to think,
all the walks I want to take, all
the books I want to read, and all
the friends I want to see. The
longer I live, the more my mind
dwells upon the beauty and the
wonder of the world.

                                  -John Burroughs

Before One Forgets What Is Important

The writing of this remembrance began with the death in 2002
of Paul Wellstone, his spouse Sheila, daughter Marcia, and 
the crew in the crash of his airplane in a woods near Eveleth, 
Minnesota.

                        I remember the 
                       day of his death.
                    Sunday, October 25
                     around 10:20 a.m.
                           So indelible.

For some reason, I had not attended church that morning.
That, in and of itself, somewhat unusual - being a member of
the choir.

                 I was where I need to be.

                          Upon hearing
                    the news, I rushed to
                the local garden store and
                   returned with a small
                        Red Maple tree.

                   I planted the tree just
            along side our front driveway.

                I planted it in their honor.

                            It's name is
                        Paul Wellstone.

          The tree was planted with care,
                                and I have cared for it 
                                                            ever since.

Where is the . . .

"This is the most beautiful
      place on earth. There are many
             such places."

                           -Edward Abbey

Did You Ever See A . . .

Did You Ever See A . . .

     -barn swallow

     -horse fly

     -flip flop

     -bumbershoot

     -hot dog

     -teeter totter

BONNIE AND CLYDE

On a trip south, we happened to sleep one night
in the same motel that Bonnie and Clyde slept in.
Not just the same motel near Rockport . . . but the
same bed. As I looked up at the nearby ceiling, I
thought of that couple. Did they rest well?
There were loads of mosquitos both outside and
inside the motel. The staff attendant cautioned us
by saying: "be sure to leave the light on in the
bathroom and keep the bathroom door open."

We did . . . and it worked!

Tres bien

We so needed
the rain.

And - it came
in the night.

Gentle.

Over
an inch.

Very good, very
well.

Excellent.

Serenity Prayer

God, grant me
the serenity
to accept the things
I cannot change -
the courage
to change the things
I can -

And the wisdom to know
the difference.

Barn Swallow Hirundo rustica

Swooping,
graceful, low,
flowing flight -
almost always
water nearby.

Deeply forked
tail streamers,
spotted with white.
Dark metallic-blue
upper parts with
chestnut-red forehead
and throat.

A half-cup nest
build of mud and grass
hidden under
eaves of buildings
or under bridges.

One April -
I was out of town,
and found Barn Swallows

in Peru.            

What Goes Around . . .

The old query . . .
      "what goes around a button"
dates back to my mother. She would
ask us kids that question.

We would say "a button hole."
     She would respond "yes, but also
           a goat."

Such simple things
      seem to persevere.

N e a n d e r t h a l i s h

Wow !

Am I proud to be able to trace my ancestry
all the way back to the Neanderthals!  Oh, the
marvels of modern-time technologies. Back as
a kid, my school library had a complete set of
the Encylopedia Britannica high up on a shelf.
It was so out-of-reach that the librarian had to
get them down for me. It was from them - I got
a hint of where I came from. The pastor of our
church said that we came from Adam and Eve.
(At the time, I thought it so amazing that Edam
and Ave were the very first Neanderthals.) 
How special is that?

        Mind you . . .  to think that I once actually
                looked like those folks.

But . . . those Neanderthals. Such foreheads and
those jaw lines. Rarely did we see anyone in
our neck of the woods that looked like that. 

However, there were a few folks that came close.

We wondered how come others in their families
looked like that as well. This was well before we
learned about heredity and genetics in science
class.

            We didn't poke fun at them . . . 
                              we were simply in awe.

LATE SPRING (haiku)

A brisk wind, blue sky
Cottonwood seed fluffs make friends
with scattered, white clouds.

P A T I E N C E

I have come to Southern Chile's
Ortway Bay, seeking
Magellanic Penguins.

I walk the weathered,
wooden boardwalk
toward the sea,
            just beyond carpeted grasslands.

High-tide waves
                    crash nearby.

There they are - among
bleached driftwood and the
continually battered boulders.

Nestled together -
cluster of young penguins,
attired in rock-grey and dull white.

Standing in patient silence.

They await an inborn urge to
venture into krill-rich waters -
and the risk of
being snatched up by roving,
hungry seals.

As night falls,
the young penguins
return to the security of
their birthing burrows.

Bougainvillea Trinity

Bougainvillea Trinity

                  Go ahead . . .

         show your three-partite
              bracts to the sun.

               Delight the eye.

                       Fade . . .

                   then spiral
                  earthbound.

               Solar-powered
                    pinwheel.



-The Bougainvillea is such an unusual vine.
 What you would assume to be its flowers . . .
  are actually colorful bracts. (The flowers are
  tiny and hardly to be seen.) Our Bougainvillea
  vines are in pots and we move them outside to
  grace the deck in the spring, summer, and fall.
  Then, it's back inside for the winter.

Never At A Loss

    Why is it so rare
      for a person to
     starve, while at
         the beach?

   They can always
            eat the

sand which is
       there.