Emerald Green

I don't mean to freak you out, but I have a dead hummingbird lying on my nature table. I found it on the pavement outside of Talbot's two weeks ago, where I had gone to buy a new pair of black pants. My old pair, which could go anywhere from work to the opera, had died. I don't know about you, but I really need a good pair of black pants.

Karen, the best saleswoman on the planet, was there because I was praying the whole time I was walking up there that she would be. She's even tinier than I am, knows the merchandise in and out, and has the gift of knowing exactly what I, not a good shopper, should buy. I explained my predicament. She walked several paces to a rack of trousers, plucked off a trim pair-- exactly my size-- and swung them in my direction. "This is it," she said. "You can wear them anywhere, throw them in the machine and they're ready to go. Perfect every time."

Leaving the store triumphant, I noticed a speck of emerald green on the expansive esplanade in front. Emerald is an unusual color, so I was curious and approached the speck. A dead hummingbird, of all things, in the middle of the sea of pavement! My immediate thought was to fish a tissue out of my purse, scoop him up and gently deposit him under a bush. But-- how often do you get to see a hummingbird? If you see them, as soon as you see them, they are gone, out of there, faster than the blink of an eye...

So at first, I stared. At his plumage, shimmering emerald. At his long, needle-thin beak. At the tiny ruff of feathers around his neck-- a circlet for a prince. (I'm guessing this bird was male because male birds seem to get all the gorgeous colors.) How did he come to be in this sea of pavement?

I walked home holding him in the tissue, and soon, when I can bear to let him go, he'll be buried amidst the ferns of my garden, ashes to ashes, green to green, another bit of stardust in this shimmering web of life.

Runes

Leaves scattered
like runes on the sidewalk
portents, prophesies
glistening, serpentine ribbons
slug trails
signs
telling of the past and
foretelling the fall to come.
And the little black squirrel
filling his belly
with scarlet dogwood berries
relishing this warm
September day.



September 15, 2009

Yes! There are dogwood berries. But look quick,
or they'll all be gone

I hear someone's spoon

I hear someone’s spoon
clinking on a cereal bowl
craving sustenance
a teenager abroad in the night
stepping away from imming
looking out the window above the sink
into the velvety darkness
should be in bed
not quite done with homework
not quite done with life for the day
ready for more
and his mother’s upstairs
hoping that he gets it
and that it’s everything he hopes for.


January 31, 2008

For Arran, my 17 year old son
who left this week for France.
xo

Summer Wanes

Summer wanes
but it’s doing it with some
pizzazz,
some splash and flair.
Thunder storms crackle,
summer annuals are rich with
flame-colored blooms,
and while the cicadas
are winding down (the husks
of their huge green and black
bodies are sadly starting
to litter the sidewalks)
their confreres the snowy
tree crickets and katydids
are thrumming in the tree tops,
squirrels are scurrying
(there’s a little black one
dashing along my fence
right now), and the farm market
overflows with goodness,
corn, peaches, tomatoes, herbs
and greens, so death
is just a whiff, a note in
the singing symphony so full
of life and juice and the
tap-dancing celebration
that is summer’s end.

August 23, 2009

Yoko Ono is Following Me on Twitter

Sunflowers at the farm market

Have you tried Twitter yet? I began tweeting this summer as an experiment, doing research on social networking on behalf of the non-profit I work for. Twitter content can be inane and totally disconnected, as if each person is chatting to the universe with no response, over and over-- “I wish someone would buy me sushi” or, “I’m giving a presentation on 21st century algorithms”.

But there have been some highlights. The way Twitter works is that you find people who’s thoughts interest you, and you follow them. Ditto for others who find your thoughts interesting (or who want you for their sales lists). Then whenever someone you’re following posts a thought, it appears on your list. You might follow the BBC (too many tweets for me), the White House or Number 10 Downing Street. I recently discovered the Joint Chief of Staff is tweeting!

My top 3 highlights so far : A poem of mine was re-tweeted (RT for short, i.e., shared around after I had tweeted it) on Poetry Central, by a medievalist at Yale; Yoko Ono is following me (of course, I ‘followed’ her first); and Greg Mortenson just joined twitter, and is tweeting from Afghanistan! He happened to start the day I finished reading his greatly inspiring book Three Cups of Tea (see previous post). How utterly thrilling! Rather like Mother Theresa tweeting.

Yoko Ono, by the way, tweets lovely things about world peace and love. On August 11th she wrote, “The town is shining, sun, rain, or snow. We live in a beautiful universe. Enjoy the miracle you are part of.”

RT: All you need is love.

A Life Experience Waiting for the Bus

I sat on a bench in the shade
in Lenox town square, waiting
for the Peter Pan to Providence.
Two benches down
a noisy family shouted to
each other rather than spoke.
They seemed kind of crude,
even vulgar.
They picked up all their things
and joined me,
kind of engulfed me, a mom,
an unidentified man, and a teenage
girl (who could have been a boy,
with androgynous length hair)
large, wide people, waddling my
way. With an unexpected,
uncalled for sweetness they
took it upon themselves to
ascertain my level of experience
with the Peter Pan bus line,
and to provide me with
all the information necessary for
my comfort as a traveler, most
especially the important fact that
the bus driver on this route is fond of
air conditioning and I might freeze
without a jacket handy.
The girl, who lives in some kind of
home and travels to her real
home on the Peter Pan bus line
periodically,
Insisted on carrying my heavy
suitcase for me and is not entirely
100% with us, but is as sweet
as can be and
looked so joyous
running back and forth to
the corner to watch for the bus
with her mother’s big old
sweater flapping around
her waist.

April 21, 2008

Summer Green

Don't you just love the green of summer?
Dream-like and deeply serene...

Images from a recent walk on the canal with Trudy.

Enjoy!