For a moment
a blazing star
astonished a mountain
warming
a heart from within.
But stars are made
of rings of fire.
Flaming Light
torches
Evening sky,
as fierce
and deadly sparks
tumble through
thin air,
burn to cinder,
black ash –
Night Sky Bear
implodes –
strikes frozen ground.
A pile of shattered rock
rose up like a ragged mountain
in the driveway.
How was I going to construct
a garden wall out of
fat hunks of stone?
A month of
boundary violations
crumbled poor ground.
The stones of
indifference,
non existent loyalty,
betrayal,
too much light,
heat from the son,
even cows who
rammed
thick bodies
thru barbed wire
seemed intent
on blocking.
Attention and Intention.
Both.
“Just do it”
a voice said.
And I did –
stone by stone,
crafting
a half moon circle
to rest upon a straight line.
Roaring March winds
tangled hair into knots
nipples stood erect on my breast.
The sun burned my
shoulders as a
dream flooded my
imagination,
creating form
from visual clarity.
As I worked
I saw Lizards
who would
hide in the cracks,
flaming scarlet
beans
and burnt orange
nasturtiums
climbing skyward
or cascading over
ungainly stone,
bean trees or
waterfalls
vining their way
Earthward
to creep along
the desert floor.
I finished the wall
with an odd sense
of completion.
Through this work
I had taken
a stand against
indifference,
dismissal,
violation,
invasion
and self doubt.
I hoped my actions
would be enough
to fracture an old pattern.
Being taken over by others
obliterates the power of
this Child – Woman’s Light.
Yesterday old eyes
stung –
fierce white
heat –
blurred vision.
Singing love songs,
I scattered seeds
in furrows
raked smooth,
tucked tufts
under stone…
Imagining
a Wildflower riot!
Bittersweet orange,
blue and gold
winding through
rice grass –
sage scrub,
vining over
wave -like gopher mounds.
I curb wild imaginings.
High Desert
discerns
what springs
to life – who
will bear flowers
or fruit –
not me.
I am Seed Bearer,
Earth’s Daughter –
a woman who
honors her Mother
by aligning herself with
Her Will.
Seedcasting
opens the door
to Ancient Story –
Original Memory is
restored.
“Mother’s day”
occurs just
as the snow
recedes,
on the cusp
of dark wings
who flash crimson
in the heat of the
son.
(Cattails dispersing seeds just as I do…)
Working Notes:
I wrote this poem on March 25th without the conscious awareness that I was participating (for the first time this year) in the most ancient practice of seed sowing while honoring that first mother’s day with seed songs…
Because women’s stories live through me it no longer matters what my conscious intention may or may not be. My mind – heart body knows what to do and just when to do it.
Originally, ‘mother’s day’ was a celebration of the Earth Mother whose early spring stirrings begin in the northern hemisphere in late March. Thirty years ago when I first discovered this information in a book of women’s mythology I was struck by the feeling sense of discovering a profound truth that has been buried by Patriarchy.
So it remains to this this day.
I have developed a fascination and a deep respect for the Great Tailed Grackle as a result of making regular visits to Walmart. I began feeding these birds bread crumbs this winter because I like them so much and because I wanted to observe these clever characters hopping about dodging automobiles and people who apparently don’t have much use for them. Some always hang out on the roof with the fake owls that were put there to scare them.
I wonder how many people have actually looked at the Great Tailed Grackle because both sexes are quite stunning. The male is glossy black with an ecclesiastical purple iridescence. He has a long, keel-shaped tail, massive bill and yellow eyes. The female is about half the size of the male and looks as if she’s been dipped in brown oil; she has a smaller keel shaped tail. The visual characteristic that stands out the most to me is the brilliance of those bright yellow eyes. These birds radiate intelligence!
And, in fact, studies that have been done on these birds reveal that they are adept at problem solving (even from a human point of view).
For example, the Grackles problem-solving power was tested by posing glass cylinders full of water with bits of food floating just outside the birds reach. To grab the morsels, the birds had to drop in pebbles to raise the water levels. After a number of trials most of the Grackles figured out that dropping pebbles into the water raised the water level so they could feed. They also learned that it was usually more efficient to use heavy pebbles to reach the snack, but if provided with too large stones the birds turned back to small pebbles to reach their goal.
Another test done had even more dramatic results. Silver and gold tubes of food were presented to the grackles but only the gold tubes had peanuts and bread in them. The Grackles immediately chose the gold tubes, but when the food was placed in silver tubes the birds instantly chose them. These tests reveal not only problem solving ability but also the birds’ flexibility in terms of learning.
Its important to note that Grackles outperformed three species in the crow family (Corvids).
This desert-adapted bird doesn’t need much beyond food, trees, water, and its own wits for survival. Once confined to Central America, the species began moving north 200 years ago, and now covers an immense region from northwestern Venezuela up to southern Canada. In 1900, the northern limits of its range barely extended into Texas; by the end of the century it had nested in at least 14 states and was reported in 21 states and 3 Canadian provinces. This explosive growth occurred mainly after 1960 and coincided with human-induced habitat changes such as irrigation and urbanization.
Where people have gone, Great-tailed Grackles have followed: you can find them in both agricultural and urban settings from sea level to 7,500 feet that provide open foraging areas, a water source, and trees or hedgerows. In rural areas, look for grackles pecking for seeds in feedlots, farmyards, and newly planted fields, and following tractors to feed on flying insects and exposed worms. In town, grackles forage in parks, neighborhood lawns, and at dumps. More natural habitats include chaparral and second-growth forest.
Great-tailed Grackles are loud, social birds that can form flocks numbering in the tens of thousands. Each morning small groups disperse to feed in open fields and urban areas, often foraging with cowbirds and other blackbirds, then return to roosting sites at dusk. This evening routine includes a nonstop cacophony of whistles, squeals, and rattles as birds settle in for the night.
As near as I can tell Grackles forage almost anywhere and will eat almost anything. What this says to me is that these kinds of birds have learned to co – habit with humans in very ingenious ways that must include being able to deal with pesticides.
During the last month (March) I have noted that there are fewer Grackles hanging around the parking lot. One reason for this absence may be that during the day some birds are moving into more rural areas to feed. In addition to country foraging and prior to actual nesting, both males and females begin to collect material for the nest site about four weeks before actual breeding begins in April.
Nesting occurs in colonies of a few to thousands, with the nests often placed close together. The actual nest construction is done after this period of “gathering,” which although not mentioned in any of the sources I consulted, must be related to the mating process. The females choose the nest site, and often “borrow” nest-building materials from other females. The nest is made of grass, twigs, reeds, and mud and is woven by the female in about 5 days in a tree, shrub, or hidden in marshland vegetation placed anywhere from 3 to 30 feet off the ground or water. Nest size varies from four inches across to 13 inches deep.
The female will lay 4 to 7 eggs that are pale greenish brown with blotches. The young are ready to fledge in a month. Mother is responsible for brooding and feeding. During this period some male Grackles may guard the nest while the female forages. In contrast some others may pair with a second female during this time leaving the female to manage on her own.
Curiously, fewer male than female nestlings survive. Adult male survival may also be lower than adult female survival, which would result in a female-biased adult sex ratio.
Although there is considerable overlap in the distribution of the three species, the Common Grackle occurs throughout the eastern United States and Canada, the Great-tailed Grackle is found in the Midwest and south/western United States, and the Boat-tailed Grackle is confined to Florida and coastal areas of the Gulf states and the eastern United States.
The Grackle is protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, which as far as I can tell, means practically nothing. People routinely haze, shoot, or use pesticides to eliminate these birds but their numbers continue to increase.*
In this time of great uncertainty due to Climate Change and continued overuse of lethal pesticides I can’t help but feel reassured that some non – human species will survive, and whenever I spend time with the Walmart birds I feel flickers of hope rising. I am already looking forward to seeing the Great Tailed Grackles once again flooding the Walmart parking in Espanola by the middle of May.
* Last summer after returning to Maine I did further in depth research on these birds because I had one grackle nest around my house and discovered that NONE of the grackles are increasing anywhere. In fact just the opposite – although there are “pockets” – one is Walmart which is perched on the edge of a marsh, between the use of pesticides/climate change/loss of habitat these birds are disappearing too.
When I gazed up
and saw her pale round face
pearled and luminous
cradled by the tree
I imagined your arms
holding me tightly
in a “forever” embrace –
The kind
where a child
is never abandoned
to float on a sea
of fear and uncertainty,
betrayal,
impending violence,
and inevitable loss.
I remember
the comfort
of being held
by him
when I wept-
the money
he sent me
from college.
He was a baby
when I climbed into
his crib to sleep
beside him.
Was that when
it all began?
Dead all these years
He still lives
under my skin.
Yearning,
I follow
the curves
of the river,
hierogplyhs
in the sand,
hungering
for
a body
I lost.
“I have set before you life and death . . . Choose life.” (Deut. 30:19)
Scientists tell us that an environmental catastrophe which has already begun threatens every aspect of life as we know it on planet earth. The choice could not be clearer. Will we choose life? Or will we choose death?
On March 6, 2019, William Barber and Phyllis Bennis published an opinion piece titled: “If America can find $716 bn for the military, it can fund the Green New Deal.” In it, they note that politicians in both parties are rushing dismiss the Green New Deal as an unrealistic pipe dream, stating that there simply is no money to fund it. Senator Dianne Feinstein’s response is characteristic of the Democratic Party’s so-called moderate and pro-military wing. As Barber and Bennis report:
When young organizers from the Sunrise Movement recently challenged Senator Dianne Feinstein to support a Green…
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Earth celebrates the season
in a thousand shades of gray.
Black and white bleed
stark contrast into
a horizon birthing light.
She stands under towering trees
soaking in their strength
– feeling –
a Sense of Wonder –
the miracle of spring snow
for a thirst driven desert…
She gazes upward lost in canopies –
Cottonwoods bending sturdy
arms seeking to embrace…
each patch of bare skin
breathing diamond flakes…
Wearing furry mink coats
her heaped up heart
opens to Love.
Trees know
her Mother and Lover,
both hide inside
Rough Bark,
That spring Sap is rising.
As Father,
trees dip and sway
but do not break
or walk away
in the fiercest of winds
even
when mighty walls
fall…
The child needs protection
from those
who left her
behind.
She leans
towards steadfast trees
dripping water from each limb…
Their shelter is her symphony.
Tangled in
Underground conversation –
she listens.
Trees sing love songs to Water,
to ‘Changing Woman.’
A Rainbow covered mountain –
has blessed her
with a Spring Benediction.
Working notes:
As I stepped out the door at dawn the words rose unbidden – “this is a spring benediction”. Last night the Cloud People came and offered the Earth a gift of wet snow that covered each branch and bush, altering the landscape in the most magnificent way.
This winter and early spring the desert has been given a reprieve from drought.
No matter how temporary, I am celebrating for the trees, scrub, wildflowers and myself, for all of us must have our feet dipped in sky water to thrive.
Red Willow River
waters are rising.
Sea green waves
wash whittled
beaver sticks
against pebble strewn shores.
I bend,
filling a
miniature vessel
to hold her song:
Water Is Life.
Spring is on the wing.
Bird migrations,
wild winds,
leave – taking,
these are the
elements of seasonal change.
Prayers for rain
may be answered.
Pale green desert rosettes,
toothed scorpion rounds,
purple filigreed ferns,
swelling Cottonwood buds,
all create a chorus of rain chants
sweetening the night.
Blackbirds trill from
tallest branches,
flash crimson
in morning flight.
March is the month
of the seed moon…
I found a soggy bean pod
She held three seeds.
Three old women called out
as I plucked that shriveled husk
from the river’s edge.
Three swollen capsules –
I held them tightly.
Would they
sprout a bean tree
flowing with fragrant flowers,
converse with Iris?
Persephone?
Frog woman?
Three faces of the
Goddess of Spring.
Just in case,
I dug them in.
I have scattered many seeds…
Few have taken root.
This is the way of the desert.
She withholds spring planting,
sometimes for years.
And who am I
to decide what grows
or not?
On the first of March
my passionflower
dropped tender leaves and died.
Twice death has taken her
this vining heart of mine
in exactly the same way
to make her point.
Nature makes no exceptions
for a soul that wonders
too far from her roots.
And mine belong to water.
Caught up by others’ needs
I forgot to tend the garden
of the vining heart of me.
My dreams grew dark.
I suffered from absence –
unable to capture my own attention –
even through poetry.
When plant death intervened
suddenly it dawned, the golden eye…
Her Light grows ever stronger
the moment I turn inward.
Forgive this foolish meandering…
I must turn back to me.
Working Notes
This poem was written for, and is dedicated to my friend and scholar Dr. Helen Hye Sook who reminded me that I needed to follow my passions…
In Greek mythology Iris was the Goddess of the Rainbow. She represents the daughter aspect of the Goddess manifesting as bridge between Earth and Sky. Persephone is also a daughter who spends half of her life in the Underworld, returning to the Upperworld when the first crocus blooms in spring. Frogs spend the cold months buried in the earth in a state of suspended animation and only emerge to breed after the Earth thaws and the rains come. According to Gimbutas, the goddess has a frog aspect, and frogs have been associated with Rebirth since Neolithic times. All involve spring transitions, which are rarely easy. I am struck by these faces of three daughter – like goddesses who also act as bridges from one world to another. Each births something new and each is related to water or the underworld.
( Fire at Dawn Births Hope)
In the dream
the elk’s antler
was a tree made
of bone.
Silvery tines –
tongues of flame
hummed at dawn.
“Embodied Light.”
I would use these words,
if asked to describe
my young friend’s
personality.
But words fall short
of wonder.
Andrew is an artist
writing a story
into the land
with his hands.
She opens the gate
of his imagination
as he leans into her curves
Someday their collaboration
will change lives…
With stones, willows,
sand bags,
red dirt and
underground water
his vision apparent
to anyone who sees,
He demonstrates
through love
and architecture
that there are no limits
to sustainable
possibility.
Such pristine beauty –
Desert wilderness
stretches out
in every direction…
Water cascades
down his rounded hills
creating cause for celebration
mirrored by
flourishing trees
that will one day
bear more of his fruit
as well as their own.
Frogs and toads sing
love songs…
Birds cling to
Juniper snags,
Sage green bushes
thrive in winding arroyos
scent the air
when Cloud People come .
Wave – like cliffs
startle the sky.
I come away astonished
giving thanks for
Andrew, whose star – like vision
eclipses muddy waters…
No wonder he loves the Dawn.
Here is man who
supports the Earth
each creature and shrub
and this ‘old woman’
with his own hands.
No wonder that
I see in him
a majestic Elk
and a towering,
steadfast Tree…
Postscript…
Not too long after Andrew and I began to befriend one another, Andrew told me a story of how he ran into an elk, and emerged unharmed. Andrew expressed his dismay that the elk had died. I was struck by the incident because I have had a relationship with friendly elk at a local elk farm for more than twenty years (in Maine) where the animals were cherished and ran free over hundreds of acres that include a river. When I built my log cabin, I named her “Elk House” because elk have such a solid relationship with the Earth and yet their majestic (male) antlers reach towards the Sky…
I “ran into” Andrew who was selling fresh vegetables last summer at a little outdoor market that he initiated for the benefit of the community. There was an instant sense of feeling connected to this young man though I didn’t know him at all.
As our friendship began to develop I realized how unusual Andrew was. His kindness, honesty, integrity, and deep humility opened my heart. As an unapologetic (eco) feminist I was deeply drawn to his ethic and ability to work with others. Only later did I begin to see how this ethic extended to his love of, and ability to work with the Earth as her partner.
Here was a man who had learned how to be a man, a man whose ability to love, nurture, and protect were priorities, a man whose ability to work so well with others makes him a shining light and a powerful example for other men to follow – regardless of age – if only they would.
If more men chose this path we would live in a different culture, one where women (including ‘old women’), men, animals, plants, and every aspect of Nature is loved, appreciated, nurtured and respected…
In my eyes Andrew is the kind of human being who brings me hope that it’s really possible to topple the toxic and deadly edifice of Patriarchy… a culture that is destroying us all.
How grateful I am to call him my friend.
Over The Edge and Beyond: Journal of a Naturalist 