alias: Frangula purshiana, Rhamnus purshiana, Cascara sagrada, Sacred bark Before Morning extends her fingers to warm my lowest trunk, down where grasses tickle, I’ve already lifted my summer-leathered leaves to the song of her. The song of Morning spoken by all the winged ones: Robins, Wrens, Sparrows, and eager Bees. … more
Living, gardening, and hiking in western Oregon, I was bound to meet up with this wildflower sooner or later. Rose checkermallow has a range that extends through the Willamette Valley and southward to the California border. It took a sleeping bee to draw me in and I haven’t stopped looking since. … more
Strawberry-scented Memories My hair still smells like strawberries from the air bnb shampoo I used yesterday. It reminds me of childhood and the scented hair of my Strawberry Shortcake doll. With her round, freckled cheeks and ruffled pinafore, her charm roused her lazy friend Huckleberry Pie every time. I was out … more
Curbed in concrete and asphalt, rooted beneath impermeable surfaces of human engineering, yet still, you tower, you arch overhead, tickling third-story windows, holding nests and sunlight in your crowns. Thank you. Thank you street trees for the visual rest of your complexity in a straight-lined urbanity. Your branches trace dark lines, earth’s … more
privacy a sheltering hood of shining green, shaped in the symbol of love two lobes atop a point, heart overlapping heart, like boudoir sheets unmade, the leaves cover, they drape, hiding and revealing what’s bare and what’s blossoming below. the name: Wild Ginger, an erotic personality, confirmed by musky spice when … more
I flock with my fellows, on November gusts we glide, guided by memories of last year’s feast— sweet, seeded, and plentiful. We descend together and sing our piercing songs to the bounty of rosehips red and bite-sized. My dusky tail feathers spreading squared and wide, colored stormy sky with yellow tip— … more
Every summer day they passed under vining tree arms, dappled shade overhead, crunch of gravel underfoot. The old couple- he on his way in, she on her way out- moved on a busy current, all summer long under the green they flowed, tanned arms shade-patterned by the many hands of palmate leaves. … more
“No bees!” is not a command Leela is willing to learn. “Sit, rollover, shake,” and “stay” she’s mastered, but something about the allure of bees flying at her nose height is as irresistible as a squirrel’s swishing tail. The potted calamint (Calamintha nepeta ‘Montrose White’) at my deck stair makes … more
1. I sing the Blues on the longest day, but I don’t weigh down, not with sadness, not for the rare rain, I do not bend, I bobble bluely, catching every breeze, setting tables for my friends, the small bees, the flower flies flower spiders, and beetles. My blue is the summer … more
The mood is gray-black lit by gold-yellow. The month is April. Daffodils reign. Under atmospheric river storms, sodden snow, and great big inhales of sunshine, we dig the ground and plant. Looking up from the squelch squerch beneath my boots, golden bright daffodils beam pure joy. Popping out in their hundreds … more
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