Shoreline to Snow Line

On a beautiful day, we dropped the Caterpillar off for a Scout activity at this camp along the Hood Canal.

We had to stop and play at the beach a while.  D2 found a staff and a shell that fit together perfectly.

Scoot searched for flat stones, skipping some and stacking others.

The sun shone on the smooth shells,

and on the madronas, with their papery, peeling bark.  It was a lovely spring morning.

Then we drove another hour to the top of a mountain, where it was still winter.

There we met Rollo, who was already there for another Scout activity.

We brought sleds and foam swords, without which, apparently, no campout is complete. 

There was more stacking to do.

How deep the snow,
how tall the trees
among whose tops we trod? 
How many waves
have washed the stones
that lie along the shore?
From sea level
to snow level,
the gulls and ferns and more--
He paints the canvas
where we walk,
a bounteous artist, God.

Grandeur

Wise Men Journey, by Joyce Tremethick

They journeyed far to seek the Light,

a star their compass through the night.

Their dearest hopes and dreams, could all

be brought to pass by one so small?

The majesty of earth and skies

were kindled in the baby's eyes;

the power that ruled the heavens, crammed

into a tiny infant hand.

Wise men bow to a humble King

whose love gives life to everything.

Merry Christmas!

Tsukimi

Calligraphy from KanjiStyle.com

     Did you see the supermoon last night?  Yesterday morning I read that the moon would rise in perigee-syzygy, or a full moon, closer than usual.  The morning was clear, but you can't depend on good weather to hold around here.  "Clear sky at morning, pack your umbrella," the natives ought to say, except that no one uses umbrellas.  Anyway, after a busy day I was driving Scoot home from a party, and saw a large copper disk rising over the trees.  At home I bustled everyone into the van and we headed for Waterfront Park. 

     By the time we arrived, of course, the moon had disappeared behind some clouds.  Another family, there to see the moon, was tossing glow-sticks around the playground.  We went down to the narrow strip of beach that the ebbing tide had uncovered, and watched the bright spot in the clouds.  Soon our patience was rewarded.  The moon emerged again, full and still somewhat yellow.

     It cast a strangely curved reflection in the fairly still inlet.  I know, in the photo the moon looks wobbly, too.  I neglected to take a tripod.  But the reflection really was long and curved, appropriate for the Full Worm Moon.  Such is a name for the last full moon of winter.  Rise and shout, the worms are out!  (Cougars, too!)
     In the grand tradition of moon-viewing in Japan, I invited everyone to write a poem.  Three boys declined the invitation.  Dandelionslayer didn't really mean to participate, I think, but he could not resist the muse:

yellow eye rising

it holds the world in its gaze

what the heck is it?

     The Caterpillar started small, but could not resist composing an epic:

See the white orb rise

watch the reflection curving

largest I have seen

Giant glowing satellite

hanging like a sky-borne lamp

Seeing brothers play

moving 'round in Luna's light

running 'cross the beach

Hear the crunching of the shells

enticing children to run

Now I sadly leave

going back to our dwelling

packed into the van

Sadly now I must go home

saying farewell to our Moon.

     It's more of a solo renga, actually.  It contains the three moon references required for kasen, but he didn't know he was supposed to include two references to flowers.  So I have supplied them pictorially. 

     Speaking of the brothers, they had a great time running around and picking up beach souvenirs.  I caught Rollo once and made him hold still long enough to hear the frogs singing near the creek.  With that much nature calling on one night, it was no surprise that another urge hit him before we packed up.  Dandelionslayer was inspired, once again, with the success of Rollo's quest for relief:

gazing at stars

the restroom is found unlocked

miracles are real

Poem: Goldfish Lament

Another Magpie Tale

Take me out of the fishbowl,
Take me out to play.
Swimming in circles,
Day after day...
Is that all you think I can do?
Maybe it's true.

Take me out for a picnic,
Let me try pasta and steaks.
Swimming in circles,
Week after week...
I get so tired of flakes.
I'll manage somehow without teeth.

Let me smell the blue sky,
Let me feel the grass.
Swimming in circles,
Year after year...
Watching you live through the glass.
Is water so different from air?

Poem: Walkingsticky

A tip of the hat to Magpie Tales and Lewis Carroll

'Twas silly, but his tapping toes
Did nimbly jive with rhythmic air.
Was there a chance?  Could he, too, dance
Like dashing Fred Astaire?

"Beware the walking stick, my son!
The polished shaft, the silver top!
Eschew top hat and monocle,
Lest you become a fop!"

But though his father looked askance,
The youth pursued his classy dream.
He spun and danced, and soon advanced
To join the ballroom team.

As lost in Terpsichorean thought,
With props in hand, back home he walked,
A Bigger Jock crashed through the wood,
And all the path he blocked.

Grunting with malicious sneer,
The Jock said, "Football makes a man!
If you just dance, you must be queer.
Come, fight me, if you can!"

Swiveling to face the lout,
He said, "You ought to change your tune.
Your sweat leaves ladies passing out.
My leading makes them swoon."

ONE, two, three, ONE, two, three, in his brain,
He chasséd to avoid the charge,
And downed the Jock with well-thrust cane,
Although the foe was large.

'Twas chilly, but his tapping toes
Stayed warm the homeward journey through.
The lad was glad, when need arose,
He'd taken fencing, too!

Mad Marchness

I looked out the window, and what did I see?
Snowflakes falling on a flowering tree.
March is bringing me a brief surprise,
Snowflakes melting right before my eyes.
I can't make a snowball or build a fort.
It lasted no longer than this report.
It was really so, though evidence may hide--
That's my excuse for exercising inside!

The Mantle

The mantle of motherhood
wraps around me like a homemade scarf --
sometimes so constricting I can barely breathe,
sometimes unfashionable;
but softening me with every wash
muffling my selfishness
warming my soul
so that I wonder how my cold, lonely neck
ever bore up my head without it.


(In a more compact form, this won the One Sentence Contest over at The Chocolate Chip Waffle.  Check it out!)

Another Attempt at Autumnal Appreciation

Is there anything left to be said about Fall?

Poets have probably written it all.

But still the leaves blaze in the Sun's lowered rays.

The season returns every year for more praise.

Does anything lovely rhyme with "Autumn?"

The calendar pages are nearing the bottom.

And whether you've raked them or simply forgot 'em,

The leaves tumble down every Fall.

So, smile at a pumpkin and slide on a sweater.

Step on the dry leaves before they get wetter.

Whether the maples are yellow or redder,

Savor the season of Fall!