Am not sure what this is. That's probably why I bought it -- at the grocery store! Clearly, it cannot be edible to anyone or anything on this earth?

OTIS July 1992 - April 2010

Whose religion centered around tearing off any loose wallpaper; who, over time, turned the banister into splinters as he clawed his way from the first to second floor, never taking stairs when there was an opportunity to shred wood; who could wake from the deepest sleep by the scent of freshly toasted bread, leaping to the table or my lap and tearing off tiny bits of toast, flinging the scraps every which way and only eating the bits that had the most butter; who, spiritually, mentaly and physically
could not abide flowers in vases -- never once failing to swat every flower out of every vase (eating a few, ignoring the rest); whose purr was certain remedy for any sadness, small or large. Apparently no remedy for the sadness that attends his passing.

My new mantra

If at first an idea does not sound absurd, then there is no hope for it."
--Albert Einstein

poem by Jack Myers

Desert is the Memory of Water

After I am gone and the ache begins
to cease and the slow erosion I felt,
being older than you, invades you too,
you’ll come to see that an image of the desert
is the memory of water, like remembering

when we were walking in beautiful Barcelona
and you said you thought trees were gods
because they were rooted in earth
and flew in the air and magically made food
out of light and made the air we breathe.

I was stunned how you could open up a God-space
just like that. Like when my 2-year-old dug holes
in the yard and fit his face into each of them to see,
as he explained, if he could find where the darkness
came from. Then you asked me why I never prayed.

I believe whatever disappears or survives
or comes into being is a prayer that’s already
been answered, and that we feel alone
because we won’t let go of what is gone
or changed or hasn’t happened yet.

Waking this morning with my arms around you,
the dogs snoring, and a mourning dove cooing,
I felt I awoke in a peaceable kingdom
where the fear of death turned inside-out
into a love for life. If I prayed, I’d pray for that for you.



-- Jack Myers, from his final collection,
The Memory of Water

Walked to the graveyard this afternoon. Most of the angels were toppled from last week's crazy windstorm, some gusts up to 91 mph.
Every angel I could find, now restored to his or her proper guard post.

"All beginnings are small." -Carl Jung

Poem by William Dickey

Happiness
by William Dickey from
THE RAINBOW GROCERY

I sent you this bluebird of the name of Joe
with "Happiness" tattooed onto his left bicep.
(For a bluebird, he was a damn good size.)
And all you can say is you think your cat got him?

I tell you the messages aren't getting through.
The Golden Gate Bridge is up past its ass in traffic;
tankers colliding, singing telegrams on strike.
The machineries of the world are raised in anger.

So I am sending this snail of the name of Fred
in a small tricolor sash, so the cat will know him.
He will scrawl out "Happiness" in his own slow way.
I won't ever stop until the word gets to you.

Swan reported lingering in small area of open water near drain pipe on a frozen pond. Normally, at this time of year, the swans would be on the river. I went to investigate and then went back again the next morning. A friend and I pulled the swan to shore. Discovered a wound at least six inches deep in her side. She is now receiving the best of care up at the Center For Wildlife. I think of her every day.

Crow taking heart from candle flame. . .

Isthmus to Island

Under almost any other circumstance, there's an isthmus here. This high tide turned the dock to island. If it were my isthmus, I think I might have sequestered myself on the far part of the dock with good footwarmers, a thermos of tea and enjoying temporary island-hood. . .

Very high tide

Because of the second full moon at the end of December, yesterday's high tide was about as high as I've ever seen. For instance, one should be able to walk to this dock!

PS

In fact, the bird did fly away. Just resting. . .

Andy's poem for the new year

This is the poem I just received from my friend, Andrea LeBlanc. Wonderful poem for the new year!

1/1/10

On the first morning of a brand new year
Indeed a new decade
Standing outdoors in slippers and robe
A goldfinch sitting on my hand

Stunned (or content)
Safe from the chill of the snow
Where he fell
Heartbeats throbbing visibly
As minutes passed

Listening to the wingbeats of cardinals
Distinct amidst the flutter
Of birds busy
Before the coming storm

Grateful in the stillness
For the opportunity
To begin the year
With a kindness

LIVE IT UP!

First day of the new year, seems like a good time to revisit this picture. As a little kid, I was always ready for a racally good time. Starting when I was about four, I used to say to my grandmother, "Live it up, Becky, I do!" A very good motto for the new year.

Wishing everyone a truly happy new year!

Light snow in the afternoon. I went walking in the woods and found this heart for Clytie!

In May of this year, a game warden brought a 4 day old albino porcupine to the Center for Wildlife. Because she was sickly and needed lots of tending, she became quite used to humans and it was decided that she should remain at the Center as an "educational ambassador." This holiday card was done by Jeannie Brett.

I haven't had a Christmas tree for years, mainly because I'm too tired at the end of the semester. But this year, inspired by Edna, I got a beauty! See picture below. It's the kind of tree that e.e. cummings and Marilyn Monroe and Albert Einstein would have loved. Maybe do love. Look at those ghost lights glowing in the window. . .

The ghost of the Christmas tree looking in the window. . .

Twilight on this part of the river specializes in
blues pulled straight out of deep dream. . .