Windfarm

Familiar wheat robed hills 

sprout a starship hatchery -

giant white three-winged thistle seeds

turn sparking turbines

in jet fuselage sized housings

atop stems the diameter 

of old redwoods.

Top to Bottom

The two lane runs several miles

in long descending sweeps,

esses waltzing down through 

a gully system between green hills 

to a long gray steel bridge

(there used to be a ferry here)

across the great Snake 

in the belly of the Palouse.

Palouse Abstract

Green knee high wheat 

neon yellow rape bloom -

the interplay of slopes

and tractor turning radius

delineates outlines on 

the canvas of these hills.

Red tailed hawk

lifts with slow beats

toward the honey locusts

marging the hay field

talons trailing 

a wing-long snake.

Purple gorgeted Calliope Hummingbird

hovers under a limber arm of bleeding heart

head back, beak vertical, sipping

from the pendulous pink blossom.

Streamside beneath the waving willow

a flock of white farm geese browse

in a pasture washed with buttercups 

and snowed over with daisies.

Pear tree crowded with young fruit

the size of hammered thumbs.

Muggy heat, I’m drooping 

like false bamboo leaves

the ten year old left wilting

on the back steps.

“Meewww...nyak, nyak, nyak, nyak!”

Starlings laughing at their own jokes.

First Morning of Summer Break

Sun angles in the east dining room window onto

dark purple lilacs raided from an old farmstead

steam curls up from a white mug.

Half an hour from home

I stuff my pillow against the truck window

pull a stocking cap over my eyes

and put sleep music on my iPod.

But the road is in my bones

every curve and turn, every hill

dreamily I know just where we are.

High river

willows wading

across the gravel bars.

Rolling wheat fields of the Palouse

chartreuse, apple, olive, sage -

running out of words for green!

Bluebird flies to the faded 

red auger arm attached

to the old blue Ford tractor

shakes out his feathers and 

chup, chup, chups at me.

Weeding Wisdom From a Ten Year Old

“Yes,” I say, “we are all going to work

in the garden this morning.” 

He slouches out and flops down in the dirt.

Half an hour of epic dandelion roots

("Are they edible? We should try them!") and 

“WOW!” sized earthworms later he pipes up,

“Working in the garden is more fun

when you have more people working together- 

it’s less like work and more like 

just doing something with your family!”

"You look cute today," she says.
I'm dressed the same as usual
but I see she's done her hair
and put on a new tee shirt.

Peaches

Cut the bag off the frozen slab

leave it angled in a bowl

half an hour, carve off a chunk - 

last summer’s sunshine melting

sweet tart in your watering mouth.

Wheaty homemade raisin bread

toasted crisp crumbly tender

dripping melted butter and 

sweet gooey brown Nutella.

Greenhouse Meditation

Standing at the makeshift 

counter of loose gray cedar boards

pressing flat pointy zinnia seeds 

a quarter inch into damp potting mix, 

the longhaired browny black cat 

purrs round my ankles.

Quiet the fear in my own heart,

begin to quiet the world.

Back screen door slams,

husband in white legs and loafers 

takes his book and a pillow from the sofa

to the green Adirondack chair.

Banking, slipping

like a kestrel on the wind

the yellow crop duster

comes around again.

Under leaden overcast and fine rain

freshly unfurled aspen leaves 

brightly green they seem

to radiate yesterday’s sunlight.

Light breeze - 

a congregation of quaking aspen

whispering their prayers.

Some days

Even in the stillness of the garden

Peace is a place

I must fight my way toward.