Bucky Beaver is Busy

Bucky Beaver is Busy

Shadows

Shadows

Beyondering

To see around the bend

I’ll follow every wind

In search of what comes next

Curiosity ever vexed

I’m going yondering

Gone to see the elephant

‘Cuz I wonder where it went

Sure it’s just over the hill

My feet cannot be still

I’ve gone yondering

A perfect place I know to be

O’er the mountains, beyond the sea

Just there across the river

I see paradise forever

I’m yondering again

Someday surely I will rest

Having found the place that’s best

Although I think that probably

For me he’ven’s in the journey

Forever yondering.

 

Green Cheese?

Weeds Are What You Make Them

Moonand Milkweed

moon and milkweed

Debbie

 

We had the first of the fall fogs today. It is early, being barely a week into August, but it has been hot (90ish) for days and today is reputed to be going to stay in the 70s so we have ground fog, hanging low in the creek bottom. It’s a thin fog, barely there, creeping up the hill and dissipating even as I watch in the early, almost-six-thirty-ish, morning, but it is fog all the same. Fog is a harbinger of autumn here, isolating and secluding, cutting my hilltop off from the world, concealing me from the eyes of humankind. However, the light of the sunrise is still the golden light of summer. I can see it on the land out there past the long hulking shadow of my hill. Crowing roosters seem to be chasing the misty, trailing remnants away excepting a thin scree over the strawberry field and a stubborn patch lingering in the roadbed of the side road that takes off from the very secondary road upon which I live.

My somewhat dark mood does not appear to be as easily dispelled. Being snatched from sleep by a ringing phone might have that effect all by itself, but in this case the information imparted was also rather dire. The doctors say my daughter’s ex-sister-in-law is going to lose her fight with breast cancer after an eight year battle which we all thought she’d won at one point. My daughter is very upset and not looking forward to telling her daughter. It is never pleasant to spread the pain around. In most instances an ex-sister-in-law might not engender such consternation, but in this case my daughter divorced the man while retaining the rest of the family. My granddaughter is very close to her “Aunt Debs”(pronounced like ‘dibs’, by a claimant) I am left to consider my mortality and that of all of us ensconced on this hunk of space rock. It is one thing to know that “no one gets out of here alive” and quite another when one is brought up short by the passage of one of their own.

If the doctors are correct Debbie will die in October, ironically national breast cancer month. I may yet accuse her of planning that, but not today. I charge every woman reading this to go and get their screening done this year. I would like to believe (as we all would at times like this) that some higher purpose will be served by her passage. So if you won’t do it for yourself or your family, please, do it for Aunt Debs.

 

 

Goodnight Moon

moon

Pain

When the ache runs through me

and it sizzles down my arm

and it singes my leg

and my head throbs from it all

I wonder

When I can’t find a place on me that isn’t sore

and there is nowhere to hide

and even my teeth hurt

and I wish it would all flow down my leg

and out my foot

earthing itself, like lightening

I wonder

When it becomes too tiresome

and I haven’t slept all night for days

and I consider how much medicine it would take to make it stop

and think about crashing into bridge abutments

and my eyes leak onto my collar

I wonder

WHY?

ME?

but I suppose it has to be somebody

 

Ocean Blues

ocean blues

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