Boston 4/05

We are into the mundane here--householder energy and concerns, naptime and mealtime, snacks, groceries, diapers, fussiness and occasional howls of protest with moments of taking care of our own business squeezed inbetween the necessary--ah go to the bathroom, get a drink of water, check the email, remember there's a world out there. And yet as the object of all our attention and ministrations wanders about the house chittering and exclaiming to herself, we are made inordinately happy simply by being present with someone so in wonder at the world.

And what a strange world it is. We wake, make our coffee or tea, get our laptops and sit perusing the world through electronic filter. Jay plays music for Anya and they bob and weave together in rhythm. She conducts, little extravagance, thinking she is making it all happen, stomps her foot, looks to make sure we are seeing. When the weather permits we move outdoors to plant the flowers and herbs we hope will flourish. Anya attempts to eat the dirt, laughs at our concern, pulls the flower heads off the stalks, finds a stick and sucks on it, waddles through the sparse grass, pointing and explicating just as her caretakers do for her.

In the meantime on the far shore of the continent, the neighbors make forays into negotiations with PGE . Arnold was set to talk them into settling out of court, having dealt with difficult people like the Chinese and Bob Reiss. However a couple of phone calls was enough to convince him to hire a lawyer. The beast is intractable, ponderous and wiley.

Honoring the Loss

A winter storm while in the cabin, fire rumbling, the wood in and everything in place, I am surrounded only by emptiness and swaying trees. All beings are hiding in their lairs, under rocks, the hollow logs. It is a time for sitting and staring, for feeling stillness and solitude, for remembering and honoring.


I knew the secret places where the trillium bloom

the mossy crevices where smooth stone and root tell
a tale of time and water

I watched change happen in rhythms lost to modern life

Oh how I loved you
my wild home

my refuge

so rough in places

now

so

...gone

Now bow to the countless deaths
that died here.

The ancient ones who couldn’t move

The small lives no one notices
who moved too slow

butterfies and moths
grasshoppers and crickets
beetles hiding under the rocks
worms and moles
the mycelium
the microbes in the soil

the whole web of life I worshipped.

Bow to the green life I lived here

so blessed

so concerned with persisitence

so innocent

of

firestorm.