Father's Day 2012

On this day I can clearly see my Dad reading his Time Magazine and morning Courier Journal, encouraging us to see the big picture,  insisting that we not rush to judgement.  He knew how to save a situation by diffusing tension with humor...what a gift.  When we walk at Threeponds I feel his essence there, recalling the vast and ancient history of the place and reminding us that no one ever really owns the earth.

  Perspectives

Perspectives   water color and tempe

Threeponds
has possibilities. Take the lowdown
and you have the ironstone color
of water. Then crouch,
if you would, beside some cypress knees. Listen to
the crows; hear a myth

bubbling up in the shape of
buffalo tracks.

From another vista
an unlikely blue, hard match
for a cold sky.  Periwinkle
spilling
down the bank,
a clear perpendicular
blasted
by outcroppings. Get a grip.

Touch
the sandstone and then move on.

Stand at the top. You’re
in any woods until you hear the
vibration. The source? A
little pregnancy of earth, the mound.
Can you dig it? Who
cares. Just birdpoints and potshards, so what’s
the electricity? Dad's look
the light, the orange and magenta warning, mouthing

don’t touch, don’t touch.