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 |  Look around. Let Nature nurture your Soul. I record images I sense and share them here. |
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NURTURE your NATURE  Nature can nurture our writing, can nurture our soul. What is the language of Nature? And how do we learn it? We look at the natural wonders around us and do not see them, hear, taste nor smell them. They do not touch us anymore than we dare touch them. And then we wonder why we feel so dead. To breathe in and live like a child again opens the Land of Wonderment. It's still there after all these years.   |
| Big Dipper 5. juli.2019 Humans are part of nature too. After dragging my butt to the market I came back by way of the local ice cream store. No seats inside. Always a line. It was dark outside, so late. Shorts, long loose dresses, sandals. Standing solo, coupled, in family groups. Silent, stoic. Chatting. Using their phones. All in line for something frosty on this warm evening. 10 p.m. A gentle breeze rustles leaves; the line moves slowly. A young blond shakes his hips. The joy of youth abounds. (Never snuff out another's flame, I remind myself. The world is dark enough.) Flavors of the day: orange cardamom sorbet, chocolate whiskey, cookie dough, blueberry and cream. |
| Sitting by the river on the 4th of July in 2019. Watching the primrose open... it opens for all those who stop to admire ...yellow-green in the cooling calm. unnoticed, unappreciated, it still blooms Sand-flies dance above a tree. they live in the moment... do we? Down by the river: rocks, stones, bricks, one beer can. the trash of our passing will live long after we have left Dimple of fish grabbing something on the surface. even the denizens of the deep must leave safety to eat Circular ripples, the ephemeral whirl of eddies. the vortexes that form, dissolve, reform, a metaphor of mourning Channel's gentle flow, the after sunset glow... how life moves in a direction, renewing itself every day ...silhouetting the bridge-swallows. late-evening dining on the wing Roar of the river through the rapids. we also fuss at the obstacles we must overcome The hum of traffic descending from above. civilization impinges on my reverie The realization that once I leave, only my words will remain... and those to be forgoten ...like this passing tandem bicycle. Coming, going, gone. |
| June's lamented tune... 24.june.2019 Before I forget these notes from late June: Cool breeze, 19º. Leavings of green-gold sepals under the locust. It's June 23rd. Dappled shade when the sun peaks out. Myriad crafts: ceramics, glass, clothes, paper, leather... under white canopied tents aflutter. It's Made Fair in Caras Park. The slow slither of chatting hoards thins out. The vendors pack their wares. I leave with a fragrant sachet, a gift from Lavender Lori, to soothe my nerves.  The next day, the 24th, I watch a sparrow on a slender stem, making it bend. Cool-in-the-shade breeze. Weeds struggling in the cracks between bricks of the patio at Bernice's Bakery. Yellow daisies contrast with purple petunias as four women chat as cotton puffs of the poplar float by. Hopping sparrows search for crumbs. Spring has left with the breeze dancing in the weeping limbs of the white birch tree. A muzzled dog saunters by. A plaintive chirp. I have nothing to offer. I say goodbye to the fragrance of white flowers, the pale pink of bindweed, the velvet touch of lamb's ears. |
| Ants 3.julio.2019 I spoke to my mother around noon; I spoke to my aunt last week. Neither are black ants. I walked to the local liquor store today. Officially they are a grocery store, but they have more beer and wine for sale than most anywhere in town. I try to buy what's on sale. I've been going for years. I just have to be patient. Today, it was cottage cheese. So I bought two. On the way back I decided to slow down and take notes: Ants in the sidewalk cracks. A man was cutting the grass edges, disturbing the soil. Throwing clumps of sod on the sidewalk. Were the ants disturbed or merely going about their business? I didn't stop to ask. Peaceful after two days of thundering rain. Pale blue skies beguiling us before the storms return tomorrow. I saw weeds eking out a living along a fence line. They are about to flower. The two-legged residents don't seem to be troubled. One can almost hear their lament "look away, look away". Daylilies brighten up a corner where the shade isn't too deep. Sugar maples don't share the sun. They are greedy. The deep grooves of the maple bark harbor nothing. On the way through the alley, a short cut past a tree with bright red cherries. Not quite ripe but I eat two. Grey-headed and black-bibbed the sparrow chirps in the clover. Is it as lonely as I am? The late evening sun brightens the north sides of buildings. The days will be shortening soon. |
| Peonies 16.juni.2019 There were always ants among the peonies where I once lived. I always checked the buds, and petals. But even bugs are careful here by the river where swallows and robins seek them out. And what creeps and crawls had better know how to hide and survive the coming drought. Even the birds of Spring leave with their fledglings. Sitting here on the bench, I notice how Spring red and yellow greens slowly have turned to the darker green of Summer. Where I came from the peonies always welcomed Summer. I cup pink and red ones in my hand, bring them to my face and inhale their fragrance. |
| Green Spring 9 June 2019 It was cold. Only 5º and a threat of snow in the mountains. Chill. Damp. Green. Everything is green right now. The last trees have leafed out and the grasses have yet to totally go to seed. Some of the birds have fledged. Saw a starling. Sparrows and robins too, here in the city by the river. A couple orange butterflies flitted. This week will warm up to 30º. Hopefully the radiator came on for the last time two nights ago. It will still be cool in the morning. The last late lilacs are blooming along with the black irises. The dandelions and elms have gone to seed and the clover blooms in mown lawns. Along the paths the sprinklers were on. The canals run full. The moon in the east is half-full. Thorns of pink roses, pansies in the shade, indigo lupines and flax. Montana is colorful in the late Spring. |
| Kafé de la casa 2012, agosto 5 Segundo piso - la vista de los techos. Lo que esconden. Lo que relevan. Cómo nos protege de la lluvia o la realidad. ¿La verdad? Sabemos lo que pasa abajo. Nos conocemos bien. Dos geranios. Como florecen aquà arriba. Todo las flores necesitan sol ...o su energÃa. Yo también. Cortinas de un rojo oscuro. Abiertas. Están abiertas. Y yo? Cerrado detrás del muro de mi cueva. Marcos cuadrados. Lineas rectas. Ni curvas. Ni nalgas rubenesques. No son humanos, solo los artefactos de la humanidad. El moviemiento del agua del jarro. Ducha la mesa. Moja la sed. Me quedo sin vaso. Color café. Blanco, negro, rojo. Necesito un café ...blanco o negro. Ni importa. Sonido del albanico. El aire que no se siente. El sudor que me envuelve vuela a los otros. La humidez, la fragancia. Tengo sed. Prefiero jasmÃn. El suelo de madera. El techo. Las paredes. Cuantos árboles se murieron? Cuantos he matado? Vasos de agua. El zumbido de las voces. Cristales y la bulla no tan cristalina. Sillas cómodas ...o no tan cómodas. Nos sentamos. Esperamos la salida. |
| After-Market Musings July 16, 2011 River high for July; but the flood subsiding. The channels will shift as the river shifts as all water has a will of its own. The folly of humans cannot contain it. Smell of cilantro and lavender. Beans await the greens; my nose the scent of Montana Summer. Taste of blackberry pie. Peter knows my weak points. We speak of pears ...and cardamom. Grey sky and the cloud-curve of a downdraft. The impending storm. Someone will be thrilled by thunder; awed by lightning; look for candles in the dark. A veil of rain; a gift from Idaho. Better than the smoke of woods burning. Idaho has many gifts. White peaks of Lolo; blue to the north-west. Even in the heat there is an oasis above. Dark pine green and bright grass green... The color of life reminds me... ...Green now gone to seed turning tan. ...Spring turns to Autumn. Summer is fleeting. Yellow yarrow and purple clover. One beginning, one ending, a moment of royal splendor The bleached afro-salsify. To see Lilian Wall now ...will her afro have turned grey, become braids, become a short remnant of the glory that once was? Unnatural jarring sound of motors and tires on macadam. Silence broken by humans ...who cannot hear their own noise. |
| M Trail in May 2011, May 2 1. New steps, sturdy 8x8s, grey gravel. Yellow forsythia seen in the parking lot below; ring of the bell in its tower. The updraft of wind. The eroded edge, a place to sit. A jumble of stone. Branches blocking the path and erosion. Green tufts of grass; last autumn's fruiting; biscuitroot. A black-white dog. 2. A moment's huff-and-puff. A three-leaf clover. Dark earth where soils seeps. A single yellowbell turning brown. Small white flowers, almost hidden. A smell, not of hill, but of town. 3. White peaks to the north; roar of traffic. Violet shooting stars. 4. How green the mountain, how devoid of flowers. A brown poodle. A short climb to 5. A bench. New moss; lichened stone; more yellowbells some yellow-green. A bush island; a path around it. one buttercup with 3 petals clinging; more flowers. An easy climb to 6. Rock outcrop. Brown-green growth of a copse of shrubs. One man in red going down the outer-edge; me climbing on the mountain's side. 7. From here, one notes the empty carpet of the stadium and the wasteland of parking lots. 12 steps up to 8. Fragrant grey-green leaves. 9. A sitting rock, smooth and weathered as if it belongs in water. Orange-grey lichen. Currant. A wire fence to 10. A longer rise to 11. Jutting south; short trek to 12. (six steps) A glance. the world at a slant. 13. ...and catching my breath. A path going south across the mountain. Tiny people below. Danny the dog making friends. Then the scramble up the mountain along the M as vertigo struck. Crawling on all 4s. The walk across the mountain. Photos at sunset and the long quiet walk home. Note: there are 13 switchbacks going up 600 feet. |
| 2011 April 27 Yellow signs of Spring on the way to Mt. Jumbo Yellow: dandelions, buttercups, yellowbells turning gold. The violet of shooting stars. The bathrooms are open along the river path! And the emerald green carpet is mown. The crow of Crow. The cranky Traffic. Forsythia full-bloom ...and yellow. Poplars. Child by a dam. 2 dogs. And a bunch of travelers. Past the burnt house on Vine where John lived last year. The huff-and-puff, the getting there. Robin's song from the brush. A rock bouquet, midges, osprey, crushing the soft fresh tips of yarrow. A copse of yellowbells, some now orange turning brown. Short green along the well-trod footpaths, wetter along the grass-shadowed edge of the furrow. The rock path down. Not totally dry but springy. |
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