September for the Sycamores

    This morning the sycamores are peeling back their bark and revealing a dull white skin.  Above, their iron arms are stretched out with thousands of pallid green and scorched-tip leaves holding on. The foliage is still thick, and I can only see glimpses of the sun from the ground. Little by little, however,…

Indecision

To at times be indecisive, is it not as natural as the shifts in weather? Somehow, this world has managed to live, resilient and unending—

The Language of Trees

    That time before noon, as we put our tools up, as our thoughts taper off, is a time susceptible to musing the stillness of things:  the orchard, its naked green and gray concrete bodies that never seem to shiver and never seem to consider themselves concerned of the cold; and the sun, in…

Clearing, Planting

24 May, 2017 I took a walk through South Creek the other day after visiting my grandfather.  My grandfather’s German Shepard, Elsa, took me fast down the trail, pounding out her excitement paw-after-paw.  Eventually my thoughts caught up to my own body and I pulled to heel Elsa as best as I could.  I could hear…

Listening to the summer

june Wheat straw set between the root and row Where green tomatoes slowly grow, sunbathing, like spoiled children, young still dreaming cherry tree A thousand blooms, a thousand cherries, Offering, in open hands, Wondering, “Who is it I can feed? With only one bee listening?” apple tree Apple tree, who knew you were such an inspiration…