Once in a while the tufted sky would break open into dazzling radiance. I would often look up from my reading to behold a waterfall of fiery light, as if the Golden Fleece were hanging in a waterfall shedding all its precious minerals into the valley below.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
We are outnumbered by countless other creatures, dwarfed by the complex imperial government of birds, by the subterranean empires of worms and grubs albino larva, moles, gophers, beetles with vast pincer jaws, by nomadic tribes of aphids and cutworms, by thread-like parasites that feast on my annabels in mid-summer, and of course, by the king of blood bandits, the Aedes aegypti mosquito that spawns in our lowland catchments and marshland.
I was swimming with you in a river
that was both rushing and still.
I hoped returning
would spark memories, fill her with light,
the way the heat of day warms the bones.
fine white strands
of mycelium reach
into the cells of the woody stalk
and hard husk of sunflower
In an enchanting lyrical rendition of William Blake’s poem “Sleep Sleep Beauty Bright,” singer Martha Redbone blends rhythm, blues and soul with traditional Native American music.