Poem by Rolf Jacobsen

Returning after a three year absence. So here is a beautiful poem
as a passport for re-entry.

It's by Rolf Jacobsen.

THE INVERTED SUMMER

There's a second summer burning on the earth--
the inverted one, that grows downward in the dark
like the mirror image in the still lakes.

It has hanging trees and white grass,
all twisted as if by secret winds.

Do I know where reality lies? Am I
root or am I crown. Aren't there stars
there, too, made of faintly glowing stones?

To Jospeh who asked

Message to Joseph who asked about the chicken lamp. Several years ago I
bought it at Marshalls in Newington, NH. Hope that helps.

Iguana love

I've just been out in the cold April rain, running errands. Went to the pet store and one of the young women who works there had a yellow blanket over her blouse, and on the blanket, she was cradling Annie the Iguana (green and yellow). She had Annie's face up against her cheek and then down trailed the long iguana body including a very lengthy tail (that reached beyond the young woman's knees!) The young woman cooed and prattled to the iguana who gave every indication of being in iguana heaven. No camera so maybe I'll try to draw what I can remember. Anyway, after witnessing such earnest iguana-love, the rain really didn't seem to matter.

Because of the snow prediction, I've uploaded a picture of a quilt I finished recently and sent to my sister for her birthday. For the color. . .for the warmth. . .

Later today, we're expected to get about 12 inches of slush or snow. Fortunately, all the hopeful flowers have it within their power to withstand this nonsense. If they can, I can. . .

Nearly April

and we are still ten to fifteen degrees colder than normal for this time of year. Today, low 40s with a fierce cold wind. Students at the university sick of the cold, egging on spring by wearing shorts and tee shirts! Indoor plants have the right idea, too. Full-tilt blooming. So that's what I'm practicing, too.

Cold Mountain Poem

Cold Mountain Poems
Han Shan

Sometimes from down below
I catch the flash of the stream's flow.
Sometimes I sit like a stone on the cliff.
My heart is like the orphan cloud,
with nothing to lean on,
so far, so far away,
what of the world's could sway it?

translated by J.P.Seaton

Sixty degrees and sunny today. It's pretty clear how the crocuses feel about the whole situation!

Magician's Dove on My Head

The Magician's Dove

I have one white domestic dove, Stella, saved from starvation, probably after being released at a wedding. Domestic doves can't fend for themselves in the wild. It's a much better idea to release white homing pigeons at weddings. . .Anyway, she had a companion dove who died. I went on line and found a dove for adoption at an SPCA who had just been surrendered by a magician! Picture is of the magician's dove I named Clara. She loves to hide in soft white fabrics and sings all night long. Secretly, she is teaching me real magic!

Rain, not snow

This winter has gone on for one hundred years. Fortunately, there are only three more days to spring. And today's downpour, though heavy, is NOT snow.

And here is a gorgeous poem by Anita Skeen to tide you over until spring does come.

What the Seed Knows

by Anita Skeen

winter plods on like a Russian novel, spring
hints, haiku

tight blouses unbutton, jackets unzip,
skin is not just skin

rich soil proliferates
in the heart, in the hand
that can never let go

rivers flow unseen, underground, unfettered
unfathomable

some dig down, some rise up
some survive

sleep is not dreamless:
how else the orange, the dogwood?
the phalanx of asparagus?

coddled in the pod,
all the seed needs:

darkness, more snug
than light

grit splits the rock, raises
a tiny fist, screams
the world into profusion
of petaled racket

to uncurl and unfurl
to unhusk from the crust

to inhale, exhale
turn toward what's bright.

Here's a goofy little doodle from a journal page. . .

Have found, and fallen in love, with a poet new to me -- Shinkichi Takahashi. This poems's from a book called Triumph of the Sparrow/Zen poems.

GODS

Gods are everywhere:
war between Koshi and Izumo
tribes still rages.

The all of All, the One
ends distinctions.

The three thousand worlds
are in that plum blossom.
The smell is God.

Chicken lamp

Busy, hurry, list it, do it, fast, now and now-er, better, best it. . .seems to be the dominant tape running in my head and no matter how many things I check off the infinite To Do list, dozens of other things boldly add themselves so that the list never shrinks, only grows. This morning, though, I heard a quieter voice, quite funny, actually. It said, "Why don't you just pay some attention to the chicken's tail feathers." Meaning the carving, I guess. So I did. I stopped and meditated briefly on the beauty of the wooden feathers. In the background, the To Do list was ramping itself up with trombones and xylophones,small mortar rounds and the sound of Humpty-Dumpty crashing and climbing, crashing and climbing. But it doesn't make any difference because today, finding my way from beauty to beauty is the doing.

Grateful for rain

Whole porch full of geraniums burst into very nearly audible hallelujahs
when the rain finally returned.

Spider with Twin

This spider's been spinning its web from my rocking chair to my front door or weeks which means I can't really use the rocking chair and getting in and out of the house is always a very delicate tai chi sort of event. For me and the spider. Then the rain came
and -- really! -- washed the spider out! One day of sun and she's back. I'm happy to see her. I don't mind about the rocker. Out on the lawn, there's a glider that none of the spiders seem to have discovered yet!

New Heart-Throb

One of my favorite poems by e.e. cummings


maggie and milly and molly and may

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea

TRUE STORY BUT NO PICTURES FOR OBVIOUS REASONS

CFW leaves me a phone message: "The Kittery Police called and said that they've received a report of a seagull at Fort Foster using an injury to get the sympathy of people on the beach. If you're able, will you go to Fort Foster to see if the gull needs assistance?" She's laughing. It's illegal for a gull to "use its injury" to garner food or affection from nearby humans? Is the bird letting one wing droop a bit while sighing softly "To fly or not to fly?" Is it throwing up on tots? Is it going into a dead faint right next to the cheese doodles?

I drive up to Fort Foster and ask the man at the gate if he knows anything about a deceitful gull.
"Yes," he says. "We had quite a few reports. A police officer responded to the call. As soon as that gull saw the officer, it flew away. The officer said he thought the gull was frightened off by his
uniform. We figured the gull was just sick or something."

"Maybe ate some bad fish?" I say, getting into the swing of things.

"Yes!" says the man at the gate. "That's just what we thought!"

But I'm left wondering just who calls the cops on a gull? And why does a police officer show up on the beach FOR A SEAGULL????

You figure it out. . .

After the March 31st release and the sighting of male and female together
I haven't seen the swans on the pond until today. The pictures are of swan
#1 in the clear water, swan #2 in the green water and #3 swans together.
They were clear across the pond so the pictures are blurry and small but
who cares. They are alive and clearly very happy to be together. I couldn't be happier myself.

March 31, 2010 Swan Returns to Pond

The swan we found on January 13th who had a 6 inch deep wound in her chest recovered, mainly due to the incredibly good care she received at the Center for Wildlife. These are pictures of Lorisa, who should be named Goddess-Savior of Wildlife,
returning the swan to the pond. We'd been told that the swan's mate had been killed. But he showed up the next day. Really a very happy story.