slugs thrive, and I’m back in Seattle, except that here, broccoli, cucumbers, zucchini, and peppers arrive in waves and our woodworker-electrician and I tackle the barn renovation in earnest still, in a few breaks, I cross the line into Maine sometimes with my Lady of Children’s Television leaping rapturously in big surf and sometimes with […]
a squirrel sees a landscape varying at multiple levels look up to a branch it’s there * * * would he go? would she come? he’s been there before and any good squirrel is wary let’s be sensible invoking misadventures * * * to be lying flat against the opposite side of a tree such […]
She asks, “What do you want?” (Apart from the obvious?)
For this household to be harmonious, I reply.
It’s a good place to start, she agrees.
Safety, for one child. And gratitude – including the things that haven’t happened.
Health – and the right companion – for the other.
Healing, happiness, and meaningful employment, for yet another.
And contentment, for the mother-in-law.
A good garden, too.
As for me? Where do I even begin? Really begin?
each springtime and summer we go our rounds, grubbing out pervasive maple sprouts, glistening slugs the evil elegance of bindweed to open way for what flowers or what bears would harvest each repetition its own mixture of success and disappointment * * * as my Lady of the Fabric Bins explains the palette of the […]
their house and yard lined a three-block street that wasn’t straight but bent, twice, away from due north or an east-west axis the squirrels there knew nothing of the next state or globe their world of endless branching comprehends no sphere each time he leaped, he’d forget who I am all the same, gravity fashions […]
sometimes quite sandy, sometimes the clay we inherit black loam’s best for farming excessive acid or alkali impose their toll compacted soil simply won’t breathe my Lady of Potting explains “organic matter,” she says, meaning compost and manure, especially. “it needs to be fed” to say nothing of her disdain for “dead dirt” so I […]
as a chorus, the pigeons coo the mockingbird invents endless variations the vernal pools erupt in peepers under the lofty moon * * * there’s no team named for his kind or hers no Mighty Squirrels on the field or the court a squirrel is not a hero figure no Cary Grant or James Bond […]