Tuesday, February 2, 2010


It is the beginning of February and it is strange to be here in this Western landscape, dreaming of the chill and cold and bundles in the East. I have been here 5 months now, and I am in awe by the natural beauty that surrounds me.  Our garden is opening up....our hive is active, our bulbs are rooting and spreading their green more and more each day...the daikon is rounding out in the depths of the rich black soil, and the artichokes are expanding and exploring the space we have given them with their leaves that are like pointy tentacles.  Last night we feasted on our broccoli, which was so flavorful and green when sauteed with pumpkin seeds and almonds.

We have also been reading a lot of poetry - trying to listen close to the words of local poet, Rusty Morrison.  Read on and you will see the magic of her imagery.  

please advise stop

I saw the window spread its wings a white heron stop
each feather a corridor into the many-storied structure drawing itself skyward stop
the further its remove the more distinct the opening of each pinion stop

just as the past sees more exactingly than this instant in its temporal imprisonment stop
just as looking up through an oak's openwork dome is a kind of falling stop
nothing in the room need foreshorten into perspective stop

not distractions with their complicated nests of stolen fabric stop
not the beating of wings but one wash of the wing my head wrenched back stop
nothing that simply appeases will ever mean vision again to me please advise

1 comment:

  1. cool! we can follow eachother around on the interwebs!