Tiny black periods
don’t end thoughts
but begin lives
in jelly clumps. We
lengthen to dashes,
with no legs to
hop or dash
because first
we need our tails.
Once we hatch,
we move our tails
and swim in
a world of water
with earth beneath us,
light above us,
and air as ripples,
creating movement
in which we flow.
“Little lives”
some might say,
but this pond is ours;
it’s all we know.
And as we grow,
we see as shadows
things that fly, things that walk,
but how can they be real
outside our world?
Someday, it’s said,
we won’t have tails but
things called legs to
hop and dash on
something called land.
What is this “solid,”
“earth,” and “ground?”
Our world is water.
We don’t understand.
But what if…
Oh, what if…
air moves more than water?
And what if…
Oh, what if…
green is more than shimmering dreams?
Someday, perhaps, we will know
but for now,
we will grow.
(This prose poem was written for Three Word Wednesday — since it’s poetry, I’ve posted it here instead of on Grace Notes, my short story blog.)
“Rotten
mis-begotten
mind,” she carps,
forgetting that creativity
has its circles and cycles,
and some are smaller
than others.
Riding on the periphery
of a circle or a cycle
(she can’t tell which;
an errant muse stole her glasses),
she searches for a spark
and finds nothing
but dull, stifling gray.
Below her line of vision
burns a fire
whose copious smoke
rises, coils, and teases,
confusing
obfuscating
and stinging her vision.
It’s up to her to see
(no one can do it for her)
that the gray isn’t a cloak
but a clue:
a product of its source,
the promise of a new cycle
which is deeper, broader, hotter.
When the smoke gets warm,
maybe she’ll feel,
see, ignite.
Then she’ll depart:
jumping off the periphery
into freefall.
On today’s hike, I was delighted to find that the Tadpoles of Spring 2010 have hatched. First, here’s a view of the pond where they live.
Many of the tadpoles are still concentrated around their eggs.
But everywhere I looked in the pond, I found tadpoles swimming around. There are far more tadpoles here this year than last year. By far more, I mean thousands. It’s hard to adequately convey that in pictures of a big pond with sun glare, but I did get close-ups of small groups of tads.
It’s delightful to make new polliwog friends.
I’m concerned, however, about the rain situation. This pond dries up quickly in warm weather, so I’ll be keeping a close eye on these little guys and girls.
But rain is forecast in about a week, so hopefully the pond will hold its own until then.
Little tads: live long, prosper, and FROG OUT!
I also discovered a carpet of wildflowers…
…and the forest is getting greener and greener.
Clear jelly-clumps hatch
Wiggling, wandering life in a
Universe of pond.
No dead lines:
Rather, dots in motion.
With limited sight,
lines look straight,
but over time,
they curve
around and
complete a circle.
On reaching the point
of origin,
a nascent dot
is born
from the motion
of the prior,
and traces
then enlarges
the underlying
spiral.
1. Heart's Chalice:
Second-pass revisions are in progress (rounding out skeletal first draft, putting good story meat on the bones). Over the next little while, word count will go back up, but not crazily so.
2. Deirdre of the Sorrows:
New title for House on Bear Branch -- gearing up for a full re-write -- completed a fruitful brainstorming session and oh, how the ideas are bubbling!
