Je vois une femme
mais, je ne peut pas voir
ce qu’elle voit
(sitting alone in the garden)
I cannot
know what she feels
or is thinking
Have her thoughts been
carried up into le ciel
by a passing coccinelle, or
is she planted
firmly on the ground
dans sa chaise, lost
In the pleasure of the moment
Who knows?
I hear the cicadas buzzing and find their cast-off clothing in the garden Yellowing leaves are stuck to the patio table Summer’s hot breath doesn’t fool Fall is poised right around the corner. Ugh.
Driving up the hill towards the cabin taking stock of our visit so far one chipmunk no deer no bear (taxidermied animals don’t count) Cresting the hill two does stood in the middle of the road paused, then continued over the fence to join a third That night in the rain we sat in rockers…
How far? I ask (is the ocean) whenever we are somewhere the ocean is not – often comes the reply “not far..” (Perhaps a few hour’s or a day’s drive) ‘Not far’ is a distance measured on the scent of a breeze something palpable in the atmosphere in fog rolling across the land ‘Not far’…
Another summer of drought the Matta, Ni and Po rivers come and go signs noted along the highway At the Rappahannock I become aware how devastating the absence of rain has been there is little evidence a river ever ran through here, but Somewhere to the southeast the Rappahannock gathers its waters once again unto…
Words come framed, measured, controlled – ‘I have some bad news” how else is there to say it? Bad news is always bad I answer in kind (and it is never enough) how else is there to respond? and we reflect, philosophize (chase guilt?) we are adults Long ago December my father lay, dying of…
1 June Journey back home it all began in California. before we left. Hope Remember when the world was not big enough and somedays were only whispered musings on a summer evening? what made this place any different from a hundred other places? Feelings of anticipation and uncertainty we are finally going home. a little…