Foxglove Moments

Foxglove Moments

Foxglove is the name of my property, five acres overlooking the Lewis River Valley that was covered with the wildflower when I first moved here in 1996. 

Sun glowering in a red, angry sky, 
as if fully fed up with Homo sapiens. 
What a mess we've made of our earthly Eden,
the planet fast becoming a dystopia (literally "sick place.")
The West coast on fire, 
shrouded in a dense suffocating cloud of smoke,
ash covers everything,
unsafe to be outside--breathe at your own risk--
resembling the Apocalypse.
Or maybe it is.

 

First posted: September 15, 2020

One morning last week, as I was admiring the butterfly bushes,
this little fellow came hovering and humming before my face,
asserting his territoriality over the lush blossoms.
I wanted to reassure him: No, really, I was just looking.

 

First posted: August 19, 2020

 

 

 

Goal: 

Each day find something worthy of note, 
and then note it: 
something to ponder,
to wonder at, to love, 

to be grateful you were here to experience, 
to receive as
 a gift.

 

 

 

 

 

 

First posted: April 4, 2020

 

 

Any moment now...

 

I notice again
as if for the first time
one season turning
toward the next
with everything
about to happen.

     Tim Nolan
      "Seasoned"

 

 

 

 

First posted: February 29, 2020

 

 

These tracks tell me:

You are not as alone
up here
as you think
you are.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First posted: February 13, 2020

 

 

Amid winter's glum monochromes 
come moments of
glorious color.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First posted: January 16, 2020

 

 

 

At day's end

a certain slant of light

turns the world

magical

and mysterious.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First posted: December 26, 2019

 

 

 

I come into the peace of wild things,

I come into the presence of still water,

I rest in the grace of the world,

and am free.

                         Wendell Berry

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[First posted: November 3, 2019]


We have this understanding, the deer and I.

When I first bring plants home from the nursery,

I leave them out overnight.

If they are still there in the morning, I plant them.

If they aren't, I don't.

 

 

[First posted: August 10, 2019]

 

 
I dine alone this evening,
sitting out on the hillside
enjoying a still summer night.
Suspiciously still.
Where is everyone?
No squirrels? No chipmunks?
(The feeders are full.)
No jays, no junkos,
no chickadees, robins or wrens?
Not even flies?

Was there a memo I didn't receive?

 

 

[First posted: July 11, 2019]