When the blizzard came raking it’s
fingernails across the windows
and compacting the world into a
microcosm of prisimic crystal caves;
the heater, rust water seeping with a
wheezing sigh – bled out.
You swiped it’s
pipes with your crooked finger to clear
any obstructions and chest pump
compressed it back to life. I don’t
think it appreciated it.
When pheasant hunting
it is advisable to leave a thermos
full of espresso; shot through
with four roses, in the cab of
the truck to double
your odds.
Spider-webbing the
house
Seemingly everywhere,
catching the eye
semi-transparent
snares, crossing through
tickle lips fine
silken strands
swatted and
distracted. Hanging
particles, sun mote to
fall crumpled in
corners, snagged
on carpet nails,
hemming in the day.
Breaking my
concentration on the bills
dampening my will to
work.
That’s it. Pushed back
stool
scoots across linoleum.
Broom and
dustpan in hand,
shuffle up a pile
and toss them on this
page.
via WP for Windows app.
A Love Statement
“Momma I have something to ask you-
I love you. Color a fish in my notebook with me.”
Complimentary like orange and blue crayons
we sit golden heads bent, hands left to left wrapped
in an Esherian embrace.
For my friend Jessie who challenged my thoughts on grey days today.
Wool
Grey skies wrap
a blanket shoulder draped – Day.
Microscoping space-air-time
Into a manageable cocoon.
The fat – bottomed moon appears a
great slow blinking eye, lid
descending grace leaving
a white fringe eyelash coyness
as the clouds reform a homemade
woolen pirate patch blankly eyeing
this metamorphosing world.
(Feel free to suggest a title for this poem. I have tried several but none have stuck.)
Gray thunderheads pull the view into sharp focus
the still calm of humidity laden lindens and oaks
green grass turned blue as the thunder plays overhead.
In childhood when the world was awe inspiring
on summer days sticky with mosquitos and lightening bugs,
my mom would tell of God above tending his garden
that the thunder was him turning over his wheelbarrow
and all the potatoes he had in there would roll out.
On the farm running the harvested corn fields, chasing barn cats,
watching the snapping turtles temporarily housed in the old
bathtub turned cow watering trough; there was never a question
that God was a gardener and we his flowers tended.
I could look up at the fields of storm clouds
and watch those potatoes turn
to raindrops to blanket my nose, as I ran for shelter
in the kitchen warmed with baking banana bread.
Today, as a grown girl, thinking of you and me and this mess,
as the thunder rocks the house, shaking my
sense of wellbeing, I wonder what must become of the weeds.
Pipestone National MonumentLocation: Pipestone, MN
Trail Length: 3/4mile paved loop
Cost: $7 entrance fee for anyone 16+ (don’t forget seniors can get a $10 pass to all National Parks that will cover an entire family entering with them)
Just an hour down the road from us is the Pipestone National Monument. So we loaded up three generations worth of the family and headed out for an afternoon of exploring. The location is rather small but perfect for anyone to access with relatively short, flat, paved walking paths.
The facility looks like it hasn’t had a facelift in thirty years but is well maintained. In the building there are a few cases displaying different examples of the stone and some of the pipes that have been carved out of the stone. There is a theater with a short film that plays that explains the value the native population put on the stone and the significance of the quarry. The film is a must see before going out to walk as it helps you understand the difficulty of the mining and the techniques being practiced to mine the stone. The building also houses a small gift shop and most interesting has a pipe carver in residence who can discuss the carving process and show works in progress.
When you head out the back doors to stroll you see a whole host of various open pits, some filled with water some with tools littered about. There isn’t much shade so prepare for the sun to hound you most of the way. There are several points of interest along the way such as looking at a “face” through a hole in the stone, a waterfall that you can see from above and below and the stream itself that flows throughout.
It would be wise to keep smaller children in strollers since there are open mine pits all over. It doesn’t take longer than two hours to see the entire site. Overall a nice way to spend an afternoon learning a little history and having a nice stroll. Perfect for when family is visiting the area and you want to show them something regional.
Taking a moment to update my about me profile. I have been a technical editor for over 10 years working in aerospace along with editing academic works for publication. I am a mother of three school aged children and have lived in Brookings, South Dakota since 2012. We have grown to love our vibrant, little community and plan to work tirelessly to enjoy what South Dakota offers and to give back within the community. When the snow flies, we ski; when it is warm, we bike and skate; when it is breezy, we fly kites; and I am learning where the hiking and fishing sweet spots are around the area. My blog chronicles my travels and hiking adventures. When I get a moment, I try my hand at poetry. Please assume all poems to be in draft and subject to editing and feedback. I do work these pieces for submission to print media. Disclaimer- all writings posted here are the original works of the author and are subject to copyright. Contact me through the blog comments for permission before any reuse or distribution of the writings contained herein. Thank you, I appreciate all those who take a moment to enjoy this blog.
Snow Horizon(Or, out the car window on the way to the airport)
Bleak desert
shifting
sheets of snow
blow go blow go
stretch to meet
monsters teasing stalk
the razors edge
horizon.
Our big willow out front is scheduled to be cut down today. It was hit by lightning and has quickly died. During the same storm a pine was struck out back that inspired the following fun little poem. (Hoping the formatting will post intact.)
A Line of Pines
Pines all-in-a-daisy-chain-straight-line backing the house but for an exceptable-pine-dropped-the-line,
which with a crack that jumped the dog into my bed
the lightning shattering bark unwinds
like Escher’s orange peels in perfect symmetry
falling shrouds the bare charred ground
leaving the puzzling HOA to decide
how to fell a dead dark pine that dared to step out of line.
tamingthemilemonster 