July 2.22: Coping, but barely

A puddle in a path

divides the population

in two distinctive camps

of opposite persuasion.

One must forge ahead

to know where this path goes;

the other shrinks from earth

that gushes ‘twixt the toes.

That second would be me,

uncurious when it comes

to mud or bugs or slithering;

my adventurousness succumbs.

I prefer the no-itch life,

sufficient just a look;

I’ll follow muddy paths

in air-conditioned book.

 

I may not be the outdoorsy type,

but I know beauty when I see it.

A salute to those who care for our green spaces.

Ritchey Woods Nature Preserve,

Fishers, IN.

Connections: February 24.18

The endless rains

hour after hour

make the choice moot:

bath or a shower?

If you’re not too picky

about mud ‘twixt your toes,

you can have both

while washing your clothes.

 

Connections

Connections: January 11.18

It’s a world of mud

outside my door

sodden, spongey

barren bore.

It’s a sky of mud

dark and flat

spitting drip

and dribble and splat.

No light, no color

etc., et al.

so I turn my eyes

to Southern Cal.

Lifting me

to brilliant blue

this silver bonfire

makes me new.

Or is it wave

or maybe wing?

It doesn’t matter;

the sun’s the thing.

In such an image

the light’s outreach

touches me

in winter’s breach.

This bleak faux spring

is quite escapable

as long as I am

daydream-capable.

 

Many thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives and the curator thereof for this wonderfully warming photo.

Connections

Connections: January 5.17

I opened the window

and breathed way deep

the pre-dawn air

thick with sleep

drizzles had left it

soft and warm

very

un-January

not the norm

though wistful for spring

I understood

that January’s mud

smells almost as good.

Connections

Connections: November 22.16

When planting a granddaughter

take utmost care

let the roots

grow everywhere

fertilize with traditions

from Grandma’s haversack

but mostly give her space

and just stand back.

Connections

Connections: September 2.16

There are many ways from here to there

but this is the one that taunts

this, not the peach, is the cat-eyed dare

it’s the log uncrossed that haunts.

With more thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives and a nod to Prufrock.

Connections

Connections: May 25

A gardener’s life is muddied

with setbacks and travails

calloused knees and splinters

blackened fingernails

but then there is the heart-stop

electric, luminous

when something perfect happens

golden, numinous.

Connections

Connections: May 10

Everywhere a lake

a pool, a puddle, drip

the world’s an invitation

to slurp and splash and sip.

Mud’s the universal

weeds hold us in thrall

we slump and slog dejected

abandoned by old Sol.

Connections

Connections: March 22

Home’s where you make it

be it ever so terran

a burrow’s a castle

if it’s yours for spring lairin’.

Cool muddy counterpane

perfect day bed

were it not for the neighbors

who stomp overhead.

Connections

How wet is it?

Summerwet
this air of spring
porridge-thick
heavy
choking

Cats and dogs
they say
the rain pelted,
slowed to lazy,
now hovers
in drip
and wilt

Free facewash
no towel
— patience —
awaiting
bug lick

Too wet
to stand
too heady
the quaff
not to nod over
into mud bath

Too wet
not to clamber
curling
from lightless places
through cracks
holding to
burled
pebbles

Wet enough
for changeling
— lily to bromeliad —
slurping rain
downleaf
for safekeeping

Wet enough
to gather
midrib
mercurial domes
quaked
by breath
of showery breeze

Against a thirsty future
the earth gulps
and saves

Meanwhile
a rainbow