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. 

November 1, 2015

I praise the fall it is the human season now

No more the foreign sun does meddle at our earth
Enforce the green and thaw the frozen soil to birth
Nor winter yet weigh all with silence the pine bough.

                                     Archibald MacLeish
                                     "Immortal Autumn"















October 25, 2015

Lazy afternoon,

sprawled on my bed with book and window open,

listening to the syncopated rhythms of the rain,





wandering through mind-drifts of memories...

              of the farm at Barwon Downs,

              of hiking up Mt. Takao in autumn,

              of planting the chestnut with Dad,

while listening to the rain, reading.





October 24, 2015


Working out on my hillside

Putting away wood for the winter

When he comes circling overhead,

Checking me out,


Majestic, unhurried,

Observant without being intrusive.

Eagle surveillance,

Preferable any day to the NSA.












October 5, 2015

The valley takes on a different character with each of the seasons.

Spring throbs to its new-life beat;
summer simmers and shimmers in the heat;
winter everywhere slows;
but autumn...autumn glows.

Autumn is my season.







September 15, 2015

On Sunday, Kris asked: Are the leaves changing on your hillside?

No, they aren't, I said. I'd checked that morning.

Today I emailed her: Yes, they are. All of them!

(What a difference a day makes.)



July 20, 2015



With temperatures in the high 90s this past weekend, it was clearly too hot for the squirrels to do much scampering about.

Listless, lethargic, flattened by the heat, they appeared to melt on the trees.




Fur coats, no matter how fashionable, are not really summer wear.






July 7, 2015




Amidst our day to day prose existence

come moments when poetry breaks through,

always taking us by surprise.

Once again.








July 1, 2015


Viewing this morning's photo--

First thought:  
Too bad. Out of focus.

Second thought:   




June 22, 2015

Sitting out on the hillside at sunset, watching the valley change colors in the transiting light, I read poetry aloud to the gathered squirrels and jays.

No chipmunks tonight. They prefer novels.

At these evening readings, I put peanuts in the feeders. I am the food person to them, bearing feed, seed, peanuts and poems.

(I suspect the squirrels feign interest in poetry simply for the peanuts.)

Tonight we're reading W.S. Merwin, a favorite poet of mine,
here on a hillside not far from Lake Merwin.
No relation that I know of, but still kind of cool.

I prefer his later poems,
about life captured in singular moments,
about living in sync with nature,
about that point where the natural and the spiritual intersect.

My critter neighbors know intuitively, instinctually,
what I am forever trying to understand intellectually.

For them there is nothing to understand. Life just is.
And they are forever present to it--like the best poets in their best moments.



June 1, 2015

By the time the sun first touches the treetops, the day seems half over.

I tend to rise early. (My oldest nephew responded to one of my early morning emails: “4:00 am? I didn’t even know there was a 4:00 am.”)

It's my listening time, when the world is at its most quiet;
when signals from the spirit are the strongest, and reception, the clearest.

It's these early morning hours when I am most likely to find Peace, Balance, Perspective...

For soon the Ego will be up,
bustling about with its To-Do Lists,
talking obsessively to itself,
checking emails and TDN and NPR
to catch up on all the madness and mayhem in the world.

And my To-Do Life has begun another day.