Sunday, April 26, 2009

The Mountains Behind Me


It feels at times
as though my crush-less shadow
turns to vapor amidst the sleeping sky
a cool, delicate waxy beauty
scenting the air

I am
jetting away from possibility
the possibility of elaborate skin together
here outside our lifetime
away in the surrounding mist

Saturday, April 4, 2009

The Beauty of Saturdays


...and so, right in the pleasure of our star blue and sun-shot yellow bedroom, snow dumping with certain April vengeance beyond the skylight, Hic...cup..cupping streams of cyber transmission prompt me to scuff step slide and twirl on the little fuzzy black rug. I'm jazz dancing to my dearest of Saturday's joy.

I hear stories and laughter and the blackest surprise of wonders from inside that coffin too soon. What? No memories with which to wait out eternity?! Fruitless and forlorn we endure and persevere...ya daddy, ya daddy, ya daddy, Ya!

In two hours, damn, so terribly short, I'm reminded of just what matters most. There's a voice purring far away, one who knows we exist, and in that brief time spent I'm included again.

My dear old pal is nearby on the bed tucked up and snoozing and planning his autumnal retirement trip. Winter was long for him, keeping those home fires burning. A '75 BMW, R90 of superior German make, awaits his command Southward. He'll ride off into the sunset. There, there may be new memories for him to gather.

I'm left thinking of red velvet and Town Hall, zuchinni, rhubarb and smoking wild caught sockeye brought in when the Chilkat drops off from summer's crest. My campfire in the strawberry patch competes with lavender midnight, twilight not quite starlight.

Kottke's playing the Deep River Blues and while our own Klehini hides, impossible now to see past warm dumping whiteness, I wonder about bifurcation and joining The Chattaqua.

Hola! Just as Mayberry resumes around the corner, I watch Raven elegantly perch. A newborn spindle legged black lamb dashs across the whiteness. There's two in every family, sometimes more.

(she hopes to win tonight's snow pool to donate to a larger GK cause)

Thursday, April 2, 2009

April Fool's Daughter and Grandson/ RLR remembered on the 2nd


Hey Ma,

A fun post Mom, (< click to article).
I still can't seem to wrap my mind around the fact that not a single one of my acquaintances east of the Rockies has any idea of what the sensation of "breaking in" feels like. Dad's right - you can't know humility until you cross an April snowbank in the absence of snowshoes.

I can't help thinking of that time when I was seven or so, when I took off on an early April adventure going who knows where, and doing it solo, and making it about as far as the place where the garden tank would stand before sinking in as deep as my legs were long and being completely unable to extricate myself. How I struggled and thrashed with escalating levels of contempt and catastrophic rage, never daring to ask anyone in the house to come down and help me lest I expose myself to the even greater torture of embarrassment, and finally giving myself away through the sheer noise of my exertion and despair, at which point you and Dad came down, and to your inestimable credit somehow managed to keep straight faces, and Dad yanked me out by the armpits, but did it a little too abruptly, and I came out wearing only the liner of my snowboot, the shell sunk two feet deep in the snow, and Dad saying - with that vaguely sadistic humor of his that gave rise to such good-natured witticisms as the one about saltwater causing one's feet to fall off - that we'd have to wait until June to get the rest of my boot back.

All in all, a great day to be an Alaskan.

I hope you're well. Happy Birthday. And keep up the good work.

Best,
Micah
April 1, 2009 6:35 PM

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Where We Might Overlap


That tunic of cloud hung densely, veiling all planes and vertices.
A saturated blue gray tilted more toward flattening white. No angle of lens could lend such precision to form or catch the magnitude.

Child, don't forget how we tracked near the small, quiet, old, and sparsely swift
with wing, tail and quill.

You and I trail across whispered intent, follow likely syncline and marvel that the animal tracks always lead the best route; least effort spent is energy conserved.

For them, energy is hard earned while we have little more skill than desire.

Still, we take pleasure in practicing flight; river far below our four out stretched wings.