how does one approach the claiming of names,
the brave or foolhardy stake in the game
that says “henceforth i shall be known as a —–“?
Sister Winter
… But my heart is
Returned to sister winter
But my hands are
As cold as ice …
Waking up to spring
“Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like?”…
“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
The light in the leaves
“Oh, look how beautiful the sun is shining through the trees!” I said, drunk on the last golden light of evening glowing through the golden leaves of the ginko trees.
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Garden tales
I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet it in a garden. — Ruth Stout It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. — Charles Dickens In the…
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come to dust
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o’ the great; Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to…
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maidens drowned
There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
the dryness and the rain
after completing messes of men, the first part of my photography project inspired by mewithoutYou’s brother, sister, cranking the second part out was surprisingly easy. as part of this shoot i learned about betta fish and discovered just how many things cockle burrs can latch onto. [and how cold 40-degree weather can be — thanks…
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messes of men
i’ve talked before about my love for mewithoutYou’s album brother, sister, and my desire to “illustrate” it, so to speak, through photography and other media. a desire four or five years in the making finally got off the ground last march when i did two shoots based on “messes of men,” the first song on…
Read Morethursday
sunday afternoon
the sultry summer air hangs low and close
while the cottonwood down lazes toward the grass
the bees are at the milkweed
buzzing into the pale purple blooms
with an industry that makes me sweat just to watch them
june litany
you are not the sun-gilded clouds
or the thunderstorm sailing across the sky
the sudden crack of lightning
or the gentle grumble of thunder.
sometimes
sometimes the words won’t come —
Read Morewhat was here before
they’re framing in rowhouses on the corner lot
where i once paused to watch the sunset over the thick green grass
spirea
at the little grey house on the corner
the spirea has begun to bloom,
delicate white blossoms creeping mistily down its long, slender branches.
april showers
after weeks of dry weather —
or merely a tease of moisture in the form of fog
or snow or sleet or drizzle —
the spring skies have finally broken open
time in the essence
all day yesterday i thought it was tomorrow
because my watch’s day-of-the-month counter
had skipped ahead when i wasn’t looking.
desecrated places
wendell says there are no unsacred places,
only desecrated ones, but i don’t know
what desecration looks like in the wild.
language class
do you like to visit the zoo?
ana from peru asks.
i do, i say, and she ticks the box,
then probes further: what do you like best?
i wonder when i last went to the zoo.