poem: still gets me home

walking home

by the ugliest way

still gets me home

poem: tiny blue flowers

two-inch deep moss,
a 2000 foot drop, and
tiny blue flowers

Out hiking the other day in the Columbia River Gorge, at one point the steep trail led up an exposed rocky face in a series of switchbacks. Before then, the trail had been going through the forest, but now it was clear just how high above the valley floor we really were, and my acrophobia would hit me in the face at each switchback. Now as it happens, on hikes I’m usually very interested in looking closely at what’s around me anyway, but suddenly it became very important for me to focus on the feel of the deep moss on the shaded side of the rocks, dry and slightly crunchy outside yet slightly damp inside and soft like a thick thick carpet, and on the quite interesting particular shade of intense blue of some tiny flowers on the rocks’ sunny sides.

Eventually we reached the summit and its spectacular views of Mount Hood and Mount Adams, but I think my memory of the feel of the moss and the color of the flowers will outlast that of the distant peaks.

Returning, we took the much longer, much less steep trail down the side of the slope. :-)

 

poem: fat robins

twelve fat robins
in a tall leafless aspen;
last snow of winter

Spring has already gotten itself underway around here, with early flowers blooming and songbirds beginning to return, and even a few early blossoms just starting to open on plum and cherry trees. But most of the trees are still bare.

Now today we’re having a rare late February snowfall, which will very likely be the last snow of the winter down here on the valley floor at least. This morning I was out taking the dogs for a walk, with everything coated in white and the sky a mix of steel grays and pale blues, when I saw a group of big fat robins sitting in an aspen tree in the schoolyard. They were like brightly colored blobs of scattered paint, or maybe strange Christmas lights in a pale bare tree, and were the funniest thing I’ve seen in quite a while! :-)

poem: waiting for spring

next to the old stump,
a new-planted cherry tree;
waiting for spring . . .

Our neighbors recently cut down the old cherry tree between our houses. It mostly grew over our front yard and was a big part of our view, but it was rooted on their side and had started to grow into their foundation. We just planted a new little cherry tree in our yard, not far from the old stump. It’s bare now, but I really hope it gets settled in comfortably enough to give us cherry blossoms in its first spring. We’ll see!

poem: dusty guitar

the dusty guitar
leaning against the TV
by a well-worn remote

Sad, isn’t it? OK, more reading and guitar playing, and less TV-watching, is on the agenda.