Tuesday, August 30, 2011

"have your heaven"

The Hurricane
by William Carlos Williams

The tree lay down
on the garage roof
and stretched, You
have your heaven,
it said, go to it.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Come on, Irene*! (Our day in pics)

My beardyman coming in from giving the sheep some hay to tide them over during the storm.

The Lovely Ladies of Lanolin finally venture out to graze along their new lakefront property. (They're not fans.)

We spent the afternoon eating quiche, knitting, & playing Scrabble.

My beardyman enjoying a post-Irene canoe ride in our new temporary lake.

*Reference to "Come On, Eileen" by Dexy's Midnight Runners stolen from a friend's Facebook status. Have not been able to get it out of my head since.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Maple Goddess

Goddess of Maple at Evening
by Chard deNiord

She breathed a chill that slowed the sap
inside the phloem, stood perfectly still
inside the dark, then walked to a field
where the distance crooned in a small
blue voice how close it is, how the gravity
of sky pulls you up like steam from the arch.
She sang along until the silence soloed
in a northern wind, then headed back
to the sugar stand and drank from a maple
to thin her blood with the spirit of sap.
To quicken its pace to the speed of sound
then hear it boom inside her heart.
To quicken her mind to the speed of light
with another suck from the flooded tap.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Dusty Wings of August


by Jennifer O'Grady

Adrift in the liberating, late light
of August, delicate, frivolous,
they make their way to my front porch
and flutter near the glassed-in bulb,
translucent as a thought suddenly
wondered aloud, illumining the air
that's thick with honeysuckle and dusk.
You and I are doing our best
at conversation, keeping it light, steering clear
of what we'd like to say.
You leave, and the night becomes
cluttered with moths, some tattered,
their dumbly curious filaments
startling against my cheek. How quickly,
instinctively, I brush them away.
Dazed, they cling to the outer darkness
like pale reminders of ourselves.
Others seem to want so desperately
to get inside. Months later, I'll find
the woolens, snug in their resting places,
full of missing pieces.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Saturday morning visitors: Mama turkey & her feathery white turklets

This morning, our neighbor's adorable fuzzy yet feathery white turklets* came waddling and peeping through our yard, closely supervised by their mama. Please enjoy some shots, though please bear in mind I was apparently too enthralled by the downy white cuteness to fuss with the finer aspects of the photography. Oh well. I did bring out my tripod though, so points there, right?

*I am aware that "turklet" is not the proper name for baby turkeys. But I don't care.