I'm longing for the woods

I'm longing for the woods
an ache so deep
it feels like my soul is being
ripped out by the open sky
and the only thing
that can hold me
to this earth
is the towering embrace of the forest trees
sheltering me with their sun-dappled blankets
and wise whispers

Simple Pleasures

Today was one of those days.
The good kind,
where the sun warms your skin and
there is a perfect breeze in the air.
When you ride your bike to the farmers' market
to buy a weeks worth of produce
that only costs $21
all of it grown in Arizona
by hardworking hands in the earth
and love
lots of love.
That is the kind of day I had today.

So much...

There's so much I've been wanting to say. So much to tell you.
But my head is spinning
with thoughts of urban wildlife
and calculations
and diagrams
and websites
and methods
and analysis
and results
there just isn't enough left in me right now
to give enough here.
I'm sorry.
I really wanted to.
Maybe soon?

The sky.
It has that way
of breathing light into the world
with its embracing blanket,
so that
one peek
and you can't help
but stare.

On The Pulse Of Morning

I was going to write a little something here this evening summing up how I felt, but I realized, that my words would not do it justice. So I leave you with this poem by Maya Angelou (and inspired by Zephyr's post). She expresses it beautifully. Although it was originally spoken at Bill Clinton's inauguration, I think it is perhaps more fitting now than ever:

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.
The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.
Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The river sings and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing river and the wise rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the tree.
Today, the first and last of every tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.
Each of you, descendant of some passed on
Traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name,
You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,
You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,
Then forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of other seekers--
Desperate for gain, starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot...
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,
Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the tree planted by the river,
Which will not be moved.
I, the rock, I the river, I the tree
I am yours--your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,
Need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts.
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me,
The rock, the river, the tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes,
Into your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

Graffiti

Rachel at Cornflower Blue did a quick post on graffiti as art and it made me think about some graffiti I saw in Bisbee last year. I like graffiti that has a meaningful message like this:
If you can't read it it says:

"When the rivers
all run dry
The oceans go bare
and die
You can kill the forest
to build your castles in the sky
But can you eat money?"

Unfortunately, when I went back to Bisbee this year, the piece has been covered over with some gang tagging...the kind of graffiti I despise.

Then today on a walk downtown, I happened upon this stencil art:

I'm not sure whether it has a deeper meaning, but it did make me smile :)

Cookbook Giveaway at SimpleSpoonful.com

Happy New Year everyone! My friend Laurel at SimpleSpoonful.com is starting the new year on a fresh note by giving away some vegetarian cookbooks. The giveaways are a great addition to any kitchen...Moosewood selections and others. To enter the giveaway, Laurel is asking you to write a poem about a vegetable....but hurry, the deadline is midnight tonight Pacific time.

We are hoping a rap counts as a poem because this is our entry:

DJ Kimmus (featuring beetNick)

Yo, DJ
don’t kick da beet!!

da pppptttt-pppptttt tssssst
da pppptttt-pppptttt tssssst

here’s a little rap,
with a succulent beat,
about a tasty root
so earthy sweet!!

This little beet
is a double treat
greens on top,
and underneath
a juicy feat!!
Saute their greens,
and cook the meat.

red or gold
Yo,
behold!!
boiled… broiled…
this beet ain’t
SPOILED!!

Slice it
Dice it
throw it in a
Soup
suckin down some borscht
while ya sit on yur
STOOP!!

red and ROUND,
my hands stained
PINK
No matter yo
‘cuz this beet
STANKS!!

Yo, Check da beet…
da ppppttt-ppppttt tsssst
da ppppttt-ppppttt tsssst

thinking the sky would open and the light would shine down
i ventured outside
around the neighborhood
with my camera
hoping to catch the sun's last touch of the day
on a brick wall or delicate flower
inside the curious workings of the alley
but the weather had other plans
the clouds collided
and the masterpiece was formed above

Fall
colors
the air
crisp and light
leaves cover the ground
the changing season brings comfort

***thanks to Lucy for the inspiration to write this FIB, a poem based on the Fibonacci sequence.

Hope

Hope is both the earliest and the most indispensable virtue inherent in the state of being alive. If life is to be sustained hope must remain, even where confidence is wounded, trust impaired. ~Erik Erikson

I promised I would follow up my last politically incorrect and quite cynical post with something much more upbeat - a message of hope. This whole weekend, while spending time with a person I very much love, I have seen reasons to have hope all around. But hope is most important in troubling times --this is important to remember and often hard to act upon. It's 1 am and I must be getting to bed, but I thought that I would make this an ongoing post. I'll leave you with a few thoughts tonight and then keep up the hopeful attitude on this blog for at least this week ("hopefully" much longer). So, here are a few things that give me hope:

• Thousands of people are offering small loans to poor people in need all over the world and not expecting anything in return-not even interest. These are called micro-loans and it allows ordinary people to pool money in an effort to give others a leg up. My favorite micro-loan organization is Kiva.
  
• A wonderfully delicious and perfectly ripe pear. This particular organic pear I ate yesterday and it was simply the best I have ever had. It filled the room with a sweet pear aroma for a few days before I ate it, too.
• Tohono Chul in Tucson had their annual plant sale today. There were so many people buying native plants for their gardens. Imagine what the world would be like if everyone cared for a small patch of land, turning it into a haven for wildlife, a respite for the mind, and an acknowledgment of regional beauty.
• Our campus has joined forces with the city of Tucson to hold a farmer's market every Friday on University Avenue. While there are only a few booths that sell produce, the turn out seems to be high, and I hope that more vendors will come. A man was selling tomatoes a few weeks ago and I have to say they were the best I have EVER had. I know, I said that about the pear too. It's been a good month!

Stay tuned for more...it's time for bed!

Tricky Wind

The winter desert wind is tricky,
like the seemingly soft touch of a jumping cholla.
The wind brushes my skin,
cool air that can only originate from water,
with the fresh smell of a Lake Michigan summer day.
But all that sand, that deep sand that sparkles under my feet
leads only to more sand--
an ocean without a drop of water.