Sitting outside on a summer evening, I spend time with
Buson. At the edge of the field, two red butterflies.
hard to make them out
through the blur
of reading glasses
I'm a University Lecturer in English and the author of a novel, The Secret of Hurricanes (MacAdam/Cage 2002). My life is summed up by Rumi, who said: "My story gets told in various ways: a romance, a dirty joke, a war, a vacancy." Rumi's quote is the epigraph to Hurricanes. The purpose of this journal is to explore creativity and the writing life.
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Friday, July 30, 2010
Last of July
Summer deepens.
The drone of cicadas--
I can barely think.
A butterfly keeps beating
against the white shed.
The hot evening sun.
Cats hiss at each other
near the food bowl.
The dogs watch the driveway,
awaiting your return.
The drone of cicadas--
I can barely think.
A butterfly keeps beating
against the white shed.
The hot evening sun.
Cats hiss at each other
near the food bowl.
The dogs watch the driveway,
awaiting your return.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
First Fire
Turkey buzzards soar above the field.
Last year I saw them flying south.
Their bodies looked heavy against the cold sky.
That same day, we brought the first wood
into the house to make a fire.
Last year I saw them flying south.
Their bodies looked heavy against the cold sky.
That same day, we brought the first wood
into the house to make a fire.