Wings

Some days I sit next to my balcony and watch the gold and house finches, the chickadees, the white-crowned sparrows, the hawks, and the ravens. They soar, float, and flutter through the day.

I sit still, lightly breathing.

Long ago, I had no time to watch the birds. My life was busy with my work and personal life. I would sometimes smell the flowers, but I didn't notice the little birds and animals right under my nose.

Now that I have to stop--now that I have to watch my health, I have learned one thing. Life is about eating, sleeping, families, and death. My immortality is not assured.

Today, I watch the birds. Tomorrow I write about them. And someday, someone may write about me.

Poetry Thursday

My husband and I lived near the Ramstein Air Base in Germany when 9/11 happened. When the U.S. fought the first scrimmage in Afghanistan, we could hear the planes leave Ramstein at 5 a.m. The planes would swoop through our valley on their way to their bombing missions. We could also hear them return a few hours later.

I still remember the fear.


Thundering at Daybreak

As cold sweat pours from my body, I wake
to dark hounds baying at fleeing gray hares:
to sounds of war thundering at daybreak.

Oh, Holy Fool, quaking for Allah, break
the fox's chains, the fox who cowers in lairs;
as cold sweat pours from my body, I wake

knowing the hound, the fox, the hares will take
us from peace of hearth and home, from our cares
to sounds of war thundering at daybreak.

Beware of false prophets, who shiver and shake,
serpents who delight in killing human hares.
As cold sweat pours from my body, I wake

to falling towers—a large death. They slake
their blood-thirst with innocent lives. Who dares—
to sounds of war thundering at daybreak—

who dares to strike again? My heart aches.
Is this the end of choice? Must we forbear?
As cold sweat pours from my body, I wake
to sounds of war thundering at daybreak.

Published in A cumen Literary Journal January 2002.

Rooted

To me, roots equal genealogy.



Even after leaving the church of my youth, I have wondered how my actions are connected with my ancestry. Recently I traced my great-grandmother Jane's line to the Roberts in the Channel Islands near England. My gggggrandfather was buried in a churchyard in St. John, Jersey Island.

There were several Messerveys who had been advocates in the justice system. I suspect that they may have been related although I have not been able to connect them into my family tree. I do have that love of fairness which made me leave my home to seek another life.

When I trace my grandfather Larson's line, it disappears into Norseman myth and mysteries. Tosten Larson (Thurston anglicized name) came to the U.S. as a youth. He lost his parents to illness and raised his brothers and sisters by himself. I find that he came from Stekka, Strandebarm, Hordaland, Norway--a stronghold of viking art, ships, and museums.

I have family from England--Kingsbury. I have family from Denmark--Petersen. I have family that settled in Massachussets and Connecticut and California and Utah. Many of my family were musicians. They came across the Great Plains, playing their fiddles for the pioneers. Some settled with the Mormons. Some became businessmen. My grandfather was very proud of a cousin who sang opera in Europe.

Sometimes it is overwhelming.

Fate played a big part in their lives including determination, ability, and stubborness. When I read their histories, I feel them. They are mine.

But, I have been rootless for many years. I wandered the world. I saw Asia, Africa, Europe, and Central America. It wasn't until fate took a hand that we (my husband and I) settled back to the States.

I still yearn for the freedom of seeing other new places. Maybe... maybe it is my roots speaking--ancestors in my bones and blood searching for a New World.

Easter Greetings

Happy Easter to all!

Sorry that I have been so preoccupied with my writing that I have almost forgotten to post on my blog.

I have been working on a project for the State of Nevada.

You can see some of the work I have been doing at this link.

As for the rest, I have been hit very hard on the subject of death once again. A good friend of my husband is dying from pancreatic cancer. Since dodging the bullet myself (see info on Wegener's Granulomatosis), I am sensitive about this subject.

Please pray (or think about) my friend and his wife.


Jesus Weeps for Lazarus

Corn silk seeps
down granite cheeks—

splashes the curve
of your neck.

My tongue licks
the holy elixir,

'tears sprout
at my feet.