9.12.16 Always delicious

The cool damp mornings of mid-September

9.12.16 The Bunny Hop

This morning, finally what rain.

https://www.facebook.com/GwenMcClellanWordsandPictures/videos/1078922465477870/

And when we go to walk, why, he does The Bunny Hop.
 He hears the small scurrying of mice, loves the word Bunny, 
and has the best time jumping around looking for 'Bunnies'. 
Good he sucks as a hunter . 
So there we were , down by the farmers fields this morning, 
dew glistening in all the wild grasses with their intricate luminescents as they set seed. 
And there's my boyo, hopping about, certain that the noise he makes
 is the noise of the wild ones.

https://www.facebook.com/GwenMcClellanWordsandPictures/videos/1079772932059490/

9.12.16 One small

One brave little golden being

9.10.16 The way in which we

There are so many spectacular places on this earth. 

Then, there are so many quietly wonderful places also, in the thick of any city, or far out in unknown land. 

You wander with eyes open anywhere at all, to come upon forgotten places, or the small unnoticed. 

I have a favorite spot I've only see from my car by a traffic light, with a wild flax of deepest blue, persevering through the long dry summer. 

There are so many small and large places where it seems maybe NOONE has discovered its particular kind of beauty. Of wonder. 

The way in which we slowly fall in love with a place matters so much.

 

9.10.16 Whatta

https://www.facebook.com/GwenMcClellanWordsandPictures/videos/1078917182145065/ 

What a blowzy breezy wild wonder day

9.10.16 Unfixable

Unfixable by David Sloan
It happened again last week standing on Monhegan's headlands, 
alongside other sweat-soaked first-timers with trail-maps, 
cameras, sloshing water bottles. They shushed their children 
and we all looked down on wheeling gulls, slope-browed
eiders, gannets gliding inches above the rumpled-shirt
surface of the waves. A little girl in red shorts
clambered up a boulder, flapped her arms, cried
out, I'm flying! and had to be gathered in mid-
leap by her father. On those cliffs, sky-spill
and sea-tilt blending blues, wings everywhere,
even the yellow fans of clicking grasshoppers,
I felt this familiar, spreading sense of seepage,
as if I were bleeding but unable to locate
the source, the day all leaking away
before filling up; no way to fix it,
to yoke me to the moment, no container
sound enough to prevent sky
from sliding down lopsided
like broken blinds, waves
from scattering into feathers,
or birds from whirling
into children who slip
over an edge,
unnoticed and
uncatch-
able.

9.11.16 Impenetrable

Coyotes out back, yipping 
as the final darkness descends 
like a heavy impenetrable blanket