Tire cover I saw on an SUV in the school parking lot. She's impressive, if not for her super-powers, then certainly for her dimensions. What a crack up.

Luna Fortuna Secunda Columbidae Fos

Late summer, early autumn, there's a very rare flower, maybe only three or four of them in a year, in the whole United States. In Latin, the name of this flower is:
luna fortuna secundna columbidae fos
and it means something like
"good luck moon-dove flower."
As you can see, I am one of the lucky ones who found such a flower in my own garden!

I'm just goofing. That's Stella the live dove nesting in flowers I brought inside from the garden!

The instructions are from a book called Journal Spilling by Diana Trout
1. Work quickly
2. Choose a magazine and rip out 7 - 10 pages
3. Then choose 7 - 10 images, again quickly
4. Without thinking, place the images on the paper, fast.
5. Scribble

I work slowly and I don't scribble so this exercise turned out to be both difficult and then, fun!

from
FORESTER MOTHS
K.A. Efetor
G.M. Tarmann

Please Do Not Become A Moth

I’ve caught you beginning to look crepuscular,
soft and lost, your edges singed by simple daylight;
at your sides, arms now part wing – like two flags
of surrender the enemy never bothered to notice.
Loss has shrunk you so much even a sparrow
might devour you. When I see you again, I know
you will look like just a man. But once the buried
secret reveals itself, that darkness only grows. So I’m
making sure the moon knows how much you need
its soft cool glow. And I’m folding tin foil into flowers,
filling them with sugar, tying them to leafless branches,
one way of adding a little bit of summer to what now
can only be winter. To me, you will not be coming home
again ever, though home is still my hope for you.

What Happens To Money In My House

A wonderful artist friend sent me a check to pay for something that didn't need to be paid for. After the check
had been in my house for a few hours,
it mysteriously transformed into what you now see. Non-negotiable, I'd say.

Once in awhile, usually on a rainy evening, it becomes visible. . .

When I was twenty eight, I had a dream about a raven who
came to my door with a ring in its beak. A wishing ring. I
still wear it though your first impulse might be not to believe me.
It is, after all, made of dream-metals and so, invisible. . .

Two Hundred Million Reasons to Love Crows #1.

There are about two hundred million reasons to love crows. The first one is:
they are more glossy beautiful than Marilyn Monroe or fresh asparagus or opera by Puccini or clouds shaped like the lost hanging gardens of Babylon or. . .

Swept Up Whole/Kay Ryan

SWEPT UP WHOLE

You aren't swept up whole,
however it feels. You're
atomized. The wind passes.
You recongeal. It's
a surprise.

-Kay Ryan

Belonging

This is my last sunflower. It opened yesterday and isn't just leaning toward the sun. It flattens itself at noon to be a plate, just in case the sun should decide to fall. This sweetie says,"I'll
catch you!"

Have been watching bees all afternoon. They're taking turns with this sunflower. One after another. And they each rotate around once counter-clock wise, as if to say -- you humans tell time backwards. It's really only a matter of how much pollen you can carry away from each blossom. I agree.

I love how much this bee looks like its flower no matter which flower it's on!

One of the most beautiful days on earth. Everything in the garden, from dragonflies, to big fat honey bees, to me -- all soaking in the late, warm light.

Late blossom hoping to become eggplant. I may have to repot the plant and bring it indoors but I'm willing. . .

Marigolds

Origin of the word marigold:
Middle English from the given name Mary, referring to the Virgin Mary + dialect gold

Used for:
tooth aches
headaches
swellings
strengthening the heart
soups
stews
mashed into oil & put
on wounds
festivals
draws evil humors out of the head
strengthens eye sight
stimulant
remedy for pain and bee sting
marigold water in the eyes helps one to see
spirits
herb of the sun
love charms
causes a witch to lose her will
added to pillows to encourage prophetic or psychic dreams
effective in stopping gossip
good for mixing with chicken feed--turns the eggs
extra yellow and the chickens, too
healing skin lotions

If I were telling time by the garden, I'd say that summer is finally here.

Moon Man McBride

Here lies Moon Man who loved to run on what he called his Millennium Wheel or sometimes, The Eye, I'm on the London Eye! He'd go for 10 mouse-miles then stop to wash his whiskers, ears and rosebud nose. Then snack on a seed or berry or a long dried strand of timothy hay and be on his way again on the yellow wheel. As if this journey were brand new, one of a kind, never to happen again. And slept all day in a tea box house, on a bed of shredded grass and bits of pillow stuffing. And he took sunflower seeds from my hand, never failed to peek out of whatever hiding place he was in when I called his name. One of a kind, bright little zen friend, laid to rest on a bed of zinnias, marigolds and fresh mint. He will be so missed.

Beautiful enough to be stained glass. Or the kind of coins they used in Oz or Atlantis.

Don't know what these are but all I can say is I wish my hair looked like this! Whatever they are, they're tiny,
only about the size of the fingernail on your pinkie.

Their heads are beginning to grow heavy. They stop watching the sun and lean toward the earth. So full of riches. Bees and song birds have been feasting. But every sunflower leaves the ghost of itself behind and so they cannot fail to reappear next year.

Except for some hardy tomatoes, everything edible from the garden vanished weeks ago, either eaten by slugs and/or woodchucks or drowned in the monsoons of June. But today, in the back of the garden, I discovered one tiny eggplant! Worth its sweet little weight in gold. Below -- a picture of its actual size.

A success story, no matter the size.

With the help of a zinnia,a sunset begins to practice its usual beautiful revelations.

Stella, the mourning dove's new friend. Stella is a domestic dove. People often release these doves at weddings or funerals but unfortunately they don't know how to fend for themselves in the wild. She was found starving to death and brought to the Center for Wildlife. If you want to release something at a wedding (or funeral) white pigeons
are the way to go.

Emily Dickinson

These are the days when Birds come back --
A very few -- a Bird or two --
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies resume
The old -- old sophistries of June --
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee --
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear --
And softly thro' the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.

Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze --
Permit a child to join.

Thy sacred emblems to partake --
They consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!

Went rowing yesterday and today. Last evening, the water was calm and quiet, herons gliding by overhead. When I came in, I carried a dusky stillness with me. This afternoon, a whole different story. I nearly got run over twice by power boats and had to duck and dodge big sailboats for nearly the whole row. But it doesn't matter. I was out on the river and there's no where else I'd rather be.

Apple for the teacher? I picked this beauty from a fruit tree in Durham. The tree's loaded with fruit that seems to be going to waste, probably because the apples have spots. Next time I pass by, I'll be sure to bring a bag.

Am starting back to teach tomorrow after eight months on sabbatical. Oh how I wish everyone could have that gift of time. The ability to just stop.
And recoup. I'm very happy to be going back. Have missed my students.
Have missed the wonderful energy that happens in a classroom. Maybe I will take my dove to class. . .

Just Another Ordinary Day on the River

Am mesmerized by the patterns stones make in walls. How they do and do not fit together and yet -- there is a wall. Would love to do a painting of this section.

And these many greys are much like the greys I saw down on the dock this afternoon as I bailed tropical storm Danny out of my boat. I'd throw water out and the wind would throw it right back. After awhile it seemed like a game. Took me a long time to win.
To the seagulls, it was just another
ordinary day on the river.

The Most Beautiful Boat in the World

I finally got my boat into the water. Had to sneak into a neighbor's yard to get this picture. She has 4 or 5 dogs who were driven into a frenzy by my trespassing. Sounded like 10 or 11 dogs, really. Who cares. Worth it for a picture of the most beautiful boat in the world.

Late and Nearly Only Sunflower

The rainiest June on record did away with most of the sunflowers I planted. This one just began to open a few days ago. Can there really be that much hair on the leaves? I never noticed before. Doesn't this vaguely resemble a Venus Fly Trap?

One for the Green

This truck belongs to a neighbor who lost his driver's license. Looks to me like he might not be getting it back.

Floppy

Worked for several hours in the "junk" room today, sorting through an astounding amount of meaningless paper. And mold. But very happily came across this picture of Floppy, the dog who came to our house the day I was born. Whenever I got sad, I'd take him under the big old oak dining room table and put my arms around him and we'd both just sit there, happy as could be, invisible because of the table cloth. It was my hidden home inside our house. No doubt about it. He was my guardian angel.

Putting things together

I'm cleaning and organizing the room that had become the junk room. In the process, I unearthed copies of books I've written and I put them together. Hard to tell from this picture because they've fanned out but the poems/books I've spent my life writing can be held easily in one hand. At first that seemed kind of pitiful. But on consideration, it became
marvelous, ecologically beautiful and actually, a kind of true magic -- like a tiny zoo made entirely of origami animals or
even a little bit like those weird little pebbles we used to get when we were kids, the kind you tossed into your water glass and watched as they bloomed into what the advertising called "gardens under the sea." Only poems are better. Because they do open and extend themselves in the most astonishing ways. And when you shut the book, the poems shrink then vanish right back into their thin, nearly weightless paper homes.

What we've been carrying all this time

It is the beginning of summer and we
are at the museum. The line begins in a bright white room with a marble floor and statues of Greek Gods and Goddesses. Some of them are missing heads, some missing arms but nevertheless, they are radiantly beautiful. There seem to be thousands of us, happy, excited and waiting with patience. Each of us has a small box or parcel and all of them are handmade and lightweight. When the line begins to move, I see that we are filling the entire museum as we're being guided to the top floor, the roof really, where there is a huge garden. There is earth enough for everyone and we are each given time to plant the seeds we've been carrying in the boxes or cloth parcels. I see that a woman has planted nasturtiums and this makes me happy because they are such easy flowers to grow, so bright and lively, and they are edible. It's clear to me, suddenly,
that this earth is sacred; the seeds are what we've made of our lives; the whole roof-top garden a thank you to God. And even a simple flower like the nasturtium is welcome.

When I staggered out of the junk room, covered in dust and mold, I found this beautiful day!

Television Jewelry

I've been watching too much TV. Decided to put the whammy on that.
So hung three necklaces, via nail polish bottles, to drop down over the screen -- reminding me to do something else. Anything else. Actually, the TV looks pretty spiffy wearing jewelry. And I went into the
room where everything collects and worked on clearing it. Will take many more days. But was inspired to keep working when I discovered folders of poetry covered in mold. That's how neglected that room truly is. I want it
glowing by the time school starts --all moldy poems bleached clean.

In a garden that's mostly occupied by pink, magenta and yellow flowers, this blue (and it's an even deeper blue in person) seems almost supernatural.

Moon Man

Some high school kids bought up a batch of mice and let them go in assembly. Many were trampled to death. This little guy escaped and lived for six months at the Stratham SPCA. I adopted him on Halloween, full moon. Hence the name.
He's a pretty old guy now, almost three. So I was happy, just now, when he took a little sun bath and I was able to get some good pictures! He answers to his name, lets me pat him. And he has the most wonderful, petal-like ears.

The Committe To Begin Essential Piano Placement

Painted pianos all over London this summer. Anyone can sit down and play. This is enough to make me buy a ticket to England, pronto. But even better, let's start a campaign to put musical instruments in every town and city!

In the Other Kind of Time by Mark Nepo

IN THE OTHER KIND OF TIME
by Mark Nepo

Let's journey now
to the other kind of time
where we've known each other
for centuries, beneath our names,
beneath our pain, to the other side
where we can stop to listen
the way fox listen to the night.

Come with me out of the cold
where we can put down the
notions we've been carrying
like torn flags into battle.

We can throw them to the earth
or place them in the earth, and ask,
why these patterns in the first place?
If you want, we can repair them, if
they still seem true. Or we can
sing as they burn.

Come. Let's feel our way
beneath the noise where we
can ask what it means to be alive
and lift our chins from the stream
like deer who've outrun
all the hunters.

Intense blackberry love

My sister, who's from Oregon, laughed at my yard
that by now looks almost like Sleeping Beauty's castle, wreathed and impassible because of thorny rose vines. In my case, it's blackberries. Kathleen
said, "Every single person I know does everything they can to get the blackberries out of their yard. You do everything to encourage them. . ."
Yes siree Bob I do. For me and the birds. Here is the first ripe berry of July. And one picture down, you can guess what happened.

Capybara Solo

Capybara Ensemble

Watch for Sandra Beasley --Dazzling New Poet

Keep an eye out for poet Sandra Beasley. In this month's issue of Poetry, one of her poems,
Unit of Measure appears. I'll post it here along with a terrific poem called Love Poem for Wednesday. She has one book already published, Theories of Falling
and another book, I Was the Jukebox, due out in April of 2010.

Unit of Measure

All can be measured by the standard of the capybara.
Everyone is lesser than or greater than the capybara.
Everything is taller or shorter than the capybara.
Everything is mistaken for a Brazilian dance craze
more or less frequently than the capybara.
Everyone eats greater or fewer watermelons
than the capybara. Everyone eats more or less bark.
Everyone barks more than or less than the capybara,
who also whistles, clicks, grunts, and emits what is known
as his alarm squeal. Everyone is more or less alarmed
than a capybara, who—because his back legs
are longer than his front legs—feels like
he is going downhill at all times.
Everyone is more or less a master of grasses
than the capybara. Or going by the scientific name,
more or less Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris—
or, going by the Greek translation, more or less
water hog. Everyone is more or less
of a fish than the capybara, defined as the outermost realm
of fishdom by the 16th-century Catholic Church.
Everyone is eaten more or less often for Lent than
the capybara. Shredded, spiced, and served over plantains,
everything tastes more or less like pork
than the capybara. Before you decide that you are
greater than or lesser than a capybara, consider
that while the Brazilian capybara breeds only once a year,
the Venezuelan variety mates continuously.
Consider the last time you mated continuously.
Consider the year of your childhood when you had
exactly as many teeth as the capybara—
twenty—and all yours fell out, and all his
kept growing. Consider how his skin stretches
in only one direction. Accept that you are stretchier
than the capybara. Accept that you have foolishly
distributed your eyes, ears, and nostrils
all over your face. Accept that now you will never be able
to sleep underwater. Accept that the fish
will never gather to your capybara body offering
their soft, finned love. One of us, they say, one of us,
but they will not say it to you.

Love Poem for Wednesday

You’re the day after Tuesday, before eternity.
You’re the day we ran out of tomatoes
and used tiny packets of ketchup instead.

You are salt, no salt, too much salt, a hangover.
You hold the breath of an abandoned cave.
Sometimes you surprise me with your

aurora borealis and I’ll pull over to watch you;
I’ll wait in the dark shivering fields of you.
But mostly, not. My students don’t care for you

or your lessons from the life of a minor god.
Can you hit the high C in our anthem?
Can you bench press a national disaster?

I fear for you, Wednesday. Your papers
are never in order. Your boots track in mud.
You’re the day I realized I didn’t even like him,

and the day I still said yes, yes, yes.
Sometimes I think you and I should elope,
and leave this house of cards to shuffle itself.

You are love, no love, too much love, a cuckold.
You are the loneliest of the three bears, hoping
to come home and find someone in your bed.

Poet's diet

The cornflake turned out to be this beautiful little moth, Japanese-looking to me, in design, at least. Very fitting for this bowl, also Japanese. I wonder how many of these moths I've eaten. . .

This is my favorite bowl and you can see it's cracked, glued, well-used. A couple of days ago, I started to pour cereal and saw what I thought was a cornflake that had easily escaped my
slap-dash dish-washing. . .

Fresh Baked Batch of Clothes-pins

In the Neighbor's Shaggy Old Pine

Full moon tonight, or maybe tomorrow. I was using a camera set to Night Pictures and that meant the shutter stayed opened longer and that meant things went beautifully out of focus: egg glowing in a nest made of twilight.

Brownie, Free At Last!

Took six squirrels from the Center for Wildlife to my friend Lorisa's house. She has ten acres of forest behind her house. We released all six, including Brownie. One zoomed right out. The remaining five were very reluctant to leave the safety of their peanut filled carriers. I'm not sure but I think this is Brownie, holding on to the crate door, gazing toward freedom. . .

Tree picture below is his new home.