These are all water whistlles. Fill them with water and blow in the tail and each creates bird songs. You can vary the pitch and number of sounds produced by how hard you blow and in what sequence. The little one was a Cracker Jacks prize, I believe. I’ve had it since I was small. The others are Mexican handicrafts purchased at arts and crafts fairs.
For RDP Whistle
I Used to Eat Red
My sister Patti and I, posed by my older sister Betty. Those are “the” cherry trees behind us. The fact that we were wearing dresses suggests we were just home from Sunday school and church, our souls bleached as white as our shoes and socks!
I used to eat red
from backyard cherry trees,
weave yellow dandelions
into cowgirl ropes
to lariat my Cheyenne uncle.
I once watched dull writhing gold
snatched from a haystack by its tail,
held by a work boot
and stilled by the pitchfork of my dad
who cut me rattles while I didn’t watch.
I felt white muslin bleached into my soul
on Sunday mornings in a hard rear pew,
God in my pinafore pocket
with a picture of Jesus
won from memorizing psalms.
But it was black I heard at midnight from my upstairs window––
the low of cattle from the stock pens
on the other side of town––
the long and lonely whine of diesels on the road
to the furthest countries of my mind.
Where I would walk
burnt sienna pathways
to hear green birds sing a jungle song,
gray gulls call an ocean song,
peacocks cry the moon
until I woke to shade-sliced yellow,
mourning doves still crooning midnight songs of Persia
as I heard morning
whistled from a meadowlark
half a block away.
And then,
my white soul in my shorts pocket,
plunging down the stairs to my backyard,
I used to eat red,
pick dandelions yellow.
(This is a reworking of a poem from my book Prairie Moths.)
For RDP Whistle
Photo Credit: D. Hammock
Abandoned
Grass sways by the abandoned house
I cower inside––a trembling mouse
exposed to the bright flash of day
when all else has gone away.
First my father, then my mum
go away and never come
again to shelter, feed or love.
Life is a winging mourning dove
that makes us and then flies away,
making green grass into hay,
the flush of life and then decay,
a harsh light turning shadows gray.
Life swells like paint–a curling blister.
It peels away my older sister,
then also takes my younger brother
and never comes to bring another.
A shadow passes over me.
A sparrowhawk. I dare not flee,
for life is mainly perilous.
It makes us just to feed on us.
Outside I see the preening cat.
It waits for me––patient and fat
in tall grass by the abandoned house
wherein I hide–a trembling mouse.
The MVB prompt for today is Abandoned. (This is a repost of a poem I wrote years ago.)
![Moon on Water photo300[43] copy](https://i0.wp.com/judydykstrabrown.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/moon-on-water-photo30043-copy.jpeg?w=161&h=121&ssl=1 "Moon on Water photo300[43] copy")
Weather.
That mix of cool and heated,
first energized by sun,
then gone under cover
when the day is done.
While escaping light for darkness,
we are drained by sleep and night—
come out of hiding in the morning
to glory in the bright!
For: https://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/2024/07/29/mlmm-monday-wordle-383/ the word prompts are: weather heat energy drained sleep cover dark light escape hide cool mix
Virginia Creeper is one one of my favorite plants as it quickly provides a complete cover over my terrace, and although it doesn’t flower, once a year for a month or so it does provide creepers of its own—these huge caterpillars that eventually turn into large moths that resemble hummingbirds so closely that I’ve only really ever identified one in the 23 years I’ve been relocating the larvae to my downhill lot. The caterpillars are so fascinating that I can’t bear to kill them, but in their larvae stage, they also produce bee bee-sized black poop pellets that cover the terrace and table and chairs below. If you want to see (and read) more about the caterpillars, go HERE.
Here is an image of hummingbird moth by Graehem Mountenay. I’ve never been able to capture one and have seen only one in 23 years. They must be present, though, judging by the dozens of their caterpillars that we remove from my Virginia creeper each year.For Cee’s FOTD
Memory Aid
When lethologica rears its ugly head,
I give up and go to bed,
for when my conscious mind won’t stream it,
my response is—try to dream it.
This Wild mural by Deedidit and unique collage painting were on view at Nomad Furniture Gallery in Ajijic. Wish I knew someone to give the duck/ducks to…but it’s too big for mailing anyway!!! (Sorry, I don’t know who did the Duckie Collage. Perhaps her, perhaps someone else.)
For Cellpic Sunday, July 28, 2024
Click on photos to enlarge.
Welcome to “The Numbers Game #32” Today’s number is 153 To play along, go to your photos file and type that number into the search bar. Then post a selection of the photos you find under that number and include a link to your blog in my Numbers Game blog of the day. If instead of numbers, you have changed the identifiers of all your photos into words, pick a word or words to use instead, and show us a variety of photos that contain that word in the title.
This prompt will repeat each Monday with a new number. If you want to play along, please put a link to your blog in comments below.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 