Why

Tulip Tree Seedling in the Meadow, April 18, 2019

Tulip Tree Seedling in the Meadow, April 18, 2019

Why is the day cold? Wool clothes are in a pile bound for the attic.
Why is the breeze warm warm? The firewood pile is high.
Why is rain falling? The firewood is uncovered.

Why is the sun setting? I have work yet to be done.
Why is the sun rising? I have yet to sleep well.
When will the moon cease chasing the sun.

Why do I have debts to pay? I want to play.
Why do I squint? I want to see.
Why does the seed grow? I want to know.

Longing

Meadow, March 16, 2019

Meadow, March 16, 2019

mythological creation story.
longing. waiting.
find.
shape in a mirror.
abandon.
resurrect a dispassionate scene.
long wish wait.

///

In the valley below
sun.
A distant ridge
casts a shadow.

///

Sometime soon, if we get to it, we will mow the meadow. That’s how a meadow stays a meadow in here. The black cap raspberry, tulip tree, and box elder would rather it otherwise. Instead, they meet the cutting blade, put down deeper roots, send up a new stem, and greet the spring. They greet the spring no matter what. Do they long for anything? Do they wish? Do they await the death of the cutting blade so they can arise?

Before the collapse

In the mirror, February 17, 2019

In the mirror, February 17, 2019

Most of my photographs of our recent trip to Florida are portraits in hotels. Hotels are where I spent most of my time. The other photographs are taken from the truck, which is the other place I spent alot of time. I also spent time visiting family. I took very few photographs of them. That’s how it is.

Upon checking into our first hotel, Beren began to sneeze. Allergic to the room, I hoped. Not likely. His nose began to run. About four days later, I noticed that my hips were aching. I came down with the flu.

Beren and Jared took turns checking on me. “Momma, I hope you feel better soon,” Beren said gravely and repeatedly as he patted my hand nervously.

As I improved, Beren declined. He woke one morning complaining of a headache. Only stupid YouTube videos and reading a year’s worth of Prince Valiant comics quelled his misery.

During the week he and I were hotel-bound, Jared explored the dreary town of Vero Beach, which is where we landed before I collapsed. Vero Beach is not exciting, I discovered, when I was finally able to get out of bed.

I spent several days and nights just sleeping. One day I drank several cups of Bigelow’s Plantation Mint. As I lay down on our room’s foldout couch. I noticed I was not sleepy. In hindsight, I noticed that Plantation Mint tastes a little like mint and alot like green or black tea. I did not sleep that night.

The takeout in Vero Beach is awful. I had hardly an appetite. Once I woke to see Jared pour a viscous peach-colored Thai curry onto one of camping plates. I closed my eyes again.

Jared claimed he was having a fine time taking excursions by day with Beren until he got he flu and then alone once Beren collapsed. And by night, he was working on his book and playing guitar in the hotel. After twenty years with this man, I knew that would fall apart shortly and completely. It did. I’d feel the same.

Throughout the two and a half weeks, we contemplated turning back north. We checked the weather in New Jersey. We imagined that after another good night’s sleep the following day would be better. It - the trip, the personnel, and the food - never really improved.