Norman Mooney, Wind Seeds


Baking, Cooking and Heat!

My sister Susan and I created this together
She painted the background and I, the Kingfisher.
here is a poem to accompany it.

The kingfisher rises out of the black wave
like a blue flower, in his beak
he carries a silver leaf. I think this is
the prettiest world--so long as you don't mind
a little dying, how could there be a day in your 
whole life that doesn't have its 
splash of happiness?
There are more fish than there are leaves
on a thousand trees, and anyway the kingfisher
wasn't born to think about it, or anything else.
When the wave snaps shut over his blue head, 
the water remains water--hunger is the only story
he has ever heard in his life that he could
believe. I don't say he's right. Neither
do I say he's wrong. Religiously he 
swallows the silver leaf
with its broken red river, 
and with a rough andeasy cry
I couldn't rouse out of my thoughtful body
if my life depended on it, he swings back
over the bright sea to do the same thing, to do it
(as I long to do something, anything) perfectly.
Mary Oliver 


Elsa Mora ~ Fern Eyes 
A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels hovering overhead? Hark.
~ Gary Johnson

via Sister Susan, Thanks


an old Irish blessing
May the road always rise up to meet you
may the wind be always blowing up your skirt....
or something like that!


When I First Saw Snow
Tarrytown, N.Y.

Bing Crosby was singing “White Christmas”
         on the radio, we were staying at my aunt’s house
         waiting for papers, my father was looking for a job.
We had trimmed the tree the night before,
         sap had run on my fingers and for the first time
         I was smelling pine wherever I went.
Anais, my cousin, was upstairs in her room
         listening to Danny and the Juniors.
Haigo was playing Monopoly with Lucy, his sister,
         Buzzy, the boy next door, had eyes for her
         and there was a rattle of dice, a shuffling
         of Boardwalk, Park Place, Marvin Gardens.
There were red bows on the Christmas tree.
It had snowed all night.
My boot buckles were clinking like small bells
         as I thumped to the door and out
         onto the grey planks of the porch dusted with snow.
The world was immaculate, new,
         even the trees had changed color,
         and when I touched the snow on the railing
         I didn’t know what I had touched, ice or fire.
I heard, “I’m dreaming . . .”
I heard, “At the hop, hop, hop . . . oh, baby.”
I heard “B & O” and the train in my imagination
         was whistling through the great plains.
And I was stepping off,
I was falling deeply into America.

—Gregory Djanikian (1949- )


Any Morning
Just lying on the couch and being happy.
Only humming a little, the quiet sound in the head.
Trouble is busy elsewhere at the moment, it has
so much to do in the world.
People who might judge are mostly asleep; they can’t
monitor you all the time, and sometimes they forget.
When dawn flows over the hedge you can
get up and act busy.
Little corners like this, pieces of Heaven
left lying around, can be picked up and saved.
People won't even see that you have them,
they are so light and easy to hide.
Later in the day you can act like the others.
You can shake your head. You can frown.
~ William Stafford


sunbittern lets you know what’s what, with its gorgeous defensive wing display!
Curly from Swanson's nursery


An absolutely perfect day spent in LaConner. We rounded a curve at the edge of town and were greeted by at least one thousand snow geese, phenomenal! The sun was breaking through the dark clouds so we experienced a beautiful sight. The flock flew up and shifted through the skies like shreds of sparkle against dark clouds then hundreds of tiny black specks changing in shapes and washing across the white canvas. I could never have captured it on film. We followed it for as long as we could.
Our day was starting fine. We then went to a local wildlife preserve and saw at least 50 tundra swans, beautiful long necks, heavy bodies, saw them in flight directly over our heads. And if that wasn't enough, saw great blue herons, bald eagles, hawks and enormous turkeys.


The Wren
he was small not ready yet
under the hedge
I caught him took him home
my father wasn’t sure
wild birds he said
we’ve tried so many times
but he ate
what we made for him
and in three days
could fly
around the living room
it’s time my father said
you have to let him go
he sat on my shoulder
I shook him off he flew
to a branch of the maple
perched there
his little eyes
I was a child I called him
back he came
stood for a moment
on my finger
then gone
I felt the spring of his legs
all day

Barbara McCauley


painting: e.bouman
Standing on a chip of rolling wood,
That swims eternity, to find a law
In all this coldness may be one man’s good;
But I am made for other, lesser ends:
I need a friend, I need a dozen friends.
—Leonard Nathan (1924-2007)
thanks, Dennis.