Friday, May 11, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
alder
Planting the Alder
For the bark, dulled argent, roundly wrapped
And pigeon-collared.
For the splitter-splatter, guttering
Rain-flirt leaves.
For the sub and clot of the first green cones,
Smelted ermerald, chrlorophyll.
For the scut and scat of the cones in winter,
So rattle-skinned, so fossil-brittle.
For the alder-wood, flame-red when torn
Branch from branch
But mostly for the swinging locks
of yellow catkins,
Plant it, plant it,
Streel-head in the rain.
--Seamus Heaney
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
draft
I understand that I am repeatedly drawn to the same spaces. Sweeping fields with soaring clouds that drift between me and the ever-variable blue. Spaces full of suncapture that leave me wondering about the difference between silver and gold. Spaces that hold nothing, but welcome everything. Temporary hosts to clouds, wind, birds -- open to what or whomever will find comfort within. I breathe deeply pulling in deep drafts of dust and light.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
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