The first warm Spring night
The smell of Jasmine
a hint of grill smoke
the neighborhood kids shrieking as they play chase
Muffled crooning streams from a distant stereo
and just like that it happens
you can practically taste Summer
Marin, March 2019
Super Blood Wolf Moon
Briefly
the clouds parted
opening up a vast starry sky.
Soft rain clouds bow to Orion
framing the transforming moon
hanging there. Alone. Wild.
The moon has a secret,
A dance, so intimate
we rarely catch a glimpse
Like the view into a stranger’s window
elusive silhouettes.
Moon, you tease us.
And in an instant
the clouds shroud you once again
but this time they are thick
dull and opaque in the light of you
and the raindrops begin to fall
slowly.
Big, heavy drops, now one and then…the other
The wind breathes
the trees rustle, dancing in your slowly dimming glow
And as you disappear from sight
the grand finale;
Sharp, icy crystals
falling helter-skelter, bouncing off the roof
resounding on the soaked redwood deck
Marin, January 2019
What I Know
I believe in a place where people do things for themselves.
I came from a place where quiet need not be cherished because it’s already built into the landscape.
I yearn to create things and make things tangible. Things you can see and measure.
I trust in dirt and sweat and men with rough hands.
I need sun to bloom and calm winds to breathe. I need the woods.
I adore seasons and feel amiss without their constant reminder that this world is turning and ever changing.
I believe in the sweetness of animals and the power of growing your own food.
I am frightened by the carelessness of the rest of this world.
San Francisco, 2012
seed pods
Foggy, fall inspired illustration.
I snipped these pods enveloped by thick, still air.
Humid but cold.
A wet chill that sticks to your bones and whispers of the invisible ocean.
San Francisco, 2012
Ode to Fall
The light is getting darker
The air sits with a crisp heaviness, still and cool
Behind the gray the sun is setting
Taunting with signs of change
Winter is flirting with Fall, blushing pink and red
Bold against the flat sky
Dry and frail and beautiful
San Francisco, September 2012
Home
Last night I stepped out into the garden and suddenly my world felt like fall. Even through the fog there was a crispness that couldn’t be mistaken.
In a city that can cheat you out of every season and deny you the use of summer clothes year after year, somehow the feeling of fall is undeniable. The angle of light is low and the air is clear and cold. A glimpse of brown and yellow trees, a slowing of plant growth and the rustle of dry leaves on concrete…even the scent of the air is bittersweet.
nostalgia: a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations
Every year around this time, I’m reminded of the hills and woods that I grew up in. My roots tug a little harder than usual, drawing my mind back to a place of red, yellow, orange and pink leaves – the brightest I’ve ever seen. If I close my eyes I can almost feel the frost crunching beneath my boots, hear the quick gurgle of a cold creek and suddenly, I am surrounded by oaks and pines standing in an almost dormant, dry vegetable garden filled with golden pumpkins still tied to their blackening vines.
San Francisco, September 2011