In search of story


Disconnections: July 17.18

In elephantine pirouette

I dance around my deck

bending, leaning, stretching

twisting leg and neck

camera poised and ready

in effort all agley’d

to capture in mid-flight

a wispy floating seed.

It can’t be seen by others

observers might be flummoxed

wondering what I’m chasing

delusional and lummoxed.

I cannot get a focus

on ary single one

the geranium sighs and whispers

I’ll show you how it’s done:

you stay quite still and quiet

don’t let on you care

and it will come to you

like silvery tickly air.





Disconnections: July 12.18

My zinnia seeds sprouted,

 and madly they grew

in red plastic bowl

but what could I do? —

Things went awry

time hurried on

they reached to the sky

and spring was all gone.

By the time they were planted

their roots all a-glob

I had to transplant them

in one big blob.



Disconnections: July 2.18

Dear reader,

It is 5:30 in the morning. The humidity is 92%. My house temp is set at 79 and the air conditioner is working hard to keep it there.

My Uncle George’s attic was the hottest place I’d ever known. Now my upstairs feels like that. It’s a dusty, dry, old-house hot. My house isn’t nearly as old as Uncle George’s, and not half as magical, but my upstairs sure bakes me just the way his attic did.

The retention pond is just what you’d expect, supporting a layer of foaming goo, exuding plague, at the very least. Yesterday it looked as though someone had spilled a tanker of WD-40, and I felt a real pang of sympathy for the poor frogs.

The flowers are doing their brave best, bless their little stamens, but this extended wet heat is good for nothing except that pond goo. Everything droops. Mold and mildew are dancing with joy.

Twenty minutes outside is the maximum. If that. All gardeners know that twenty minutes is nothing, so, when that is all the time you have, it’s triage watering. Deadheading and weeding are luxuries you can’t afford to indulge in. Forget standing back and regarding the whole with your head to one side, deciding what to do different next year. No time for gardener’s neuroses!

Everyone I hear from says ditto, ditto. The wilt is universal. So do be careful, dear reader. Water yourself first!





Disconnections: June 29.18

My first-ever hydrangea

glows like dawn

with bashful blush

old-timey charm,

a stranger to me

and I to it

each to the other


The first year is cautious

not my garden yet

we come to acquaintance

in slow etiquette:

gardeners must


while gardens the gardener