Thursday, February 28, 2013

On Being Seduced By the Hebrides

I had not expected to fall so in love
with an Atlantic isle
(being Pacific born, fully invested
in keeping faith with my own ocean.)
But the chartreuse, old gold 
and burnt ochre of the bogs,
the sienna and umber of stony hillocks
the ultramarine ridges beyond,
the indigo wash of overcast and loch
tap deep into my being.
I love the twisting one lane roads
the sheep lying on the verge (not shoulder)
the white two story cottages
with their black roofs,
the red telephone boxes -- 
is the whole blessed country 
a movie set?
And if I’m so affected from my own desk,
by the Street View and Google Earth tour,
what kind of a mess would I be
if I could smell the land, hear the waves
feel the wind, splash across a burn
hear the Gaelic in it’s native air...?
If I could only get there!

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Not Much of a Fence

Steel t-post faded to aloe green
pocked with rust
stands, not vertical but 
perpendicular to the slope;
two widely spaced loose 
strands of barbless twisted wire
sag along to staples in a ponderosa 
pine’s puzzle bark.