There's a big ol' birdie

sitting atop the tallest eucalyptus tree across the street. She's been there for a little while. I consulted with my Reader's Digest North American Wildlife, and upon inspection, I think she's a red-shouldered hawk. Maybe. I couldn't get that good of a look at her--my camera doesn't zoom that far. But I snapped a few crappy pictures anyway:


See?

Hawks are messengers, sun creatures, gods: think Horus. Here's a Ted Hughes poem called "Hawk Roosting."

I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed.
Inaction, no falsifying dream
Between my hooked head and hooked feet:
Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.

The convenience of the high trees!
The air's buoyancy and the sun's ray
Are of advantage to me;
And the earth's face upward for my inspection.

My feet are locked upon the rough bark.
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:
Now I hold Creation in my foot

Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly -
I kill where I please because it is all mine.
There is no sophistry in my body:
My manners are tearing off heads -

The allotment of death.
For the one path of my flight is direct
Through the bones of the living.
No arguments assert my right:

The sun is behind me.
Nothing has changed since I began.
My eye has permitted no change.
I am going to keep things like this.

Later that day.

I finally did make it outside. This is what I saw:

I only fooled with them a little bit. I promise.

होम Alone

It's a rare occurrence these days. It's a rare day, too--a cloudy day in Tucson, the mountains shrouded in a thin gauze of haze. Gauze of haze. Hey. I haven't left the house. What to do?

Type up a few words to no one. Sit at a desk drinking a cold cup of coffee, green hoody hood pulled up over still damp hair. Wiggle toes in woolly green socks. Twirl hair in fingers and meditate on Emptiness. Make up a new rule for no reason: mascara is forbidden on Sundays.

I used to be alone often, but now, left to myself--I don't know what to do with myself.

Guess I'll go stir the compost heap.

Here I am

again. I came to blogger/blogspot to see what one of my dear friends had been up to, and thought I would stop by my own page. Not that there's much to see...

I haven't been writing enough. The other day I was practically tearing my hair out because I couldn't find my blank journal--as if I had nothing else to write on/in. There's plenty of paper around, a keyboard, and a screen. I'll find the journal eventually. I must write!

But I don't like the feel of this thing I've started...it's too dark. I need light and air, the mountains, the sea. I need to focus on the beautiful, to celebrate it. I need new! I know that there are all sorts of horrible things going on in the world (when isn't there?), things that require our attention, things that we need to work to change. I know, I know, I know. Everywhere I turn someone is pointing out the problems...many times that someone is me.

So: let's toast to friends, poetry, pretty pictures, light through the leaves, dew on the eaves, and fresh (organic!) raspberries. (I've been eating them by the pint this past week. I think I'll have some right now...) Let's look out past the horizon. Amazing things are happening there--and right here, too! Let's see what we can do.

More than a year later, an appendage to my last post.

So I checked my hotmail today and was clicking through the smattering of action alerts I receive on a daily basis, and I came across one from Food and Water Watch that reminded me: hey, I have a blog! Well, kind of. I have a blog but I don't write blogs. Blogs. I love that word.


Anyway, Sign this petition--unless you like salmonella in your McNuggets, that is.