Full Front Lines Moon
The Full Front Lines Moon, after Gary Snyder in Turtle Island p. 18, rises Friday Novevmber 19, 2021 about 530, shortly after sunset.
"The Unknown is where all outcomes are possible; enter it with grace." stole offin a Yogi Tea tag.
John muir, from 'A Wind-Storm in the Forests'
"It never occurred to me until this stormday, while swinging in the wind, that trees are travelers, in the ordinary sense."
10-20-21 Grand rising, this full moon did it right. Not a hummer in sight though, for a couple of weeks now.
10-21-21 Humid, warm air returned with a layer of "ground fog" masking the setting full moon.
10-23-21 Ancient Tree Bike Hike: Great day, great group of "tree huggers", several owners of significant trees opened their gates to us so that we could touch trees which was a real blessing. On our ride we were greeted by tree after grand tree, an amazing line-up in the City of Live Oaks. Then we road up Fulton St., stopping under the Trainer Sash Mill Company Housing trees. These beauties were planted from Gebert Oak acorns in the 1880's. The Utility Arborists, just in the last few weeks, have cut irrational V's in their canopies. It was a sad, sad sight and really killed my enthusiasm for the day and the ride. As Gary Snyder ended the poem, "and here we must draw our line".
FRONT LINES
The edge of the cancer
Swells against the hill-we feel
a foul breeze-
And it sinks back down.
The deer winter here
A chainsaw growls in the gorge.
Ten wet days and the log trucks stop,
The trees breathe.
Sunday the 4-wheel jeep of the
Reality Company brings in
Landseekers, lookers, they say
To the land,
Spread your legs.
The jets crack sound overhead, it's OK here;
Every pulse of the rot at the heart
In the sick fat viens of Amerika
Pushes the edge up closer-
A bulldozer grinding and slobbering
Sideslipping and bulching on top of
The skinned-up bodies of still-live bushes
In the pay of a man
From town.
Behind is a forest that goes to the artic
And a desert that still belongs to the Piute
And here we must draw
Our line.
OH Yes Gary, I'm certain that I know how you feel and what you mean!
10-31-21 I have noted on my path as I move about a significant number of road killed Coyote bodies laying about. What is up y'all? Drought, breeding season, time for the youngsters to leave mother and younger sibs to go it alone? I wonder.
11-10-21 drinving in early, trying to beat the lights, 8am, pull in to work with a serious list of things to do before 11am class. I run upstairs as fast as my old legs will allow, turn on the computer and the clock reads 7am. Yay! What a beautiful gift of time. I just love "Regular Time"! That hour made all the difference. OK, now I set truck clock to the right time.
11-11-21 Same drive, different day, leaving Broussard on US 90, cool front approaching, skirmish line of scattered showers moving up from Scott side of town. From Milton to Breaux Bridge stands one of those rare complete rainbows and I'm trying to drive in this traffic and watch that show. Shoots y'all, its a tough day to be gawking at rainbows.
From Darrell Bourque's "The Blue Boat"
WHERE LAND MEETS SKY
for Elmore Morgan, Jr.
He loves this place he's fallen into:
his skies of smeared lilac, his clouds spun
by muscled ether, congealed air so newly blue
it's hard to tell it from the sky we knew once
and loved so. After shot-silk skies, what else?
All the earth and all that's creatured in it. Tongues
of irises from the swamps, big lazy trees, bells
on boats in creaping rivers and cows like peace
flags grazing in the prairies, or lying in wells
of cow dreams making milk. He loves the creases
and the blur: stalks filled with rice to falling,
water rushing from pipes, and a leaf in the wind. Leases
on anything that takes us to the places these converge,
a line in all we see an know, oh holy curve and surge.
a poem by our former poet laureate (like David Lee I guess you are never former, only Poet laureate) about a favorite landscape painter Elemore Morgan, what a guy. Two special guys, I have owned Darrell's book for 16 years and this week it finally spoke to me, funny how that works.
I like weird people.
The BLACK SHEEP, the ODD DUCKS, the ECCENTRICS, the LONERS, the LOST and FORGOTTEN.
More often than not, these people have the most BEAUTIFUL SOULS.
by Cynthia Frenette
Go out, watch it rise with your mouth open, in awe, take your little kids and old people, listen, laugh, love.
peace and love
BT
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