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The Willow Cutters

The Willow Cutters.

They gather in circles as the day ends.
Men sit in one circle, closer to the lake.
Women, still standing, cluster laughing around a ribald tale.
They’ve been cutting old willow, then burning it for weeks to clear the mud flats.
Now new willow, red-veined with opalescent skin, springs up from the graves of the old.
The teeth of slender leaves cup up to catch the far-off whirr of rain bugs in the hills.
Every night louder, their repetitious whirr is as annoying
as the temperature, which  grows hotter every day.

The birds all seek their evening perches—
night heron on the fence post in the water,
blackbirds in orderly evening strings,
swallows in frenzied swooping snarls.
A young girl lies on her back in the short cool grass
that in the past few weeks has sprung from the cracked mud.
With her baby in arms, she rolls over to face the red sun and in her journey,
sees the ones from her pueblo who burn off last year’s growth.

Sees also the gringa who cuts the tender willow.
She is an interloper who watches birds, and as she watches,
is watched—the bright colors of her clothes drawing eyes.
She is the one for whom being a foreigner isn’t enough—
an ibis among herons, a cuckoo among blackbirds,
Now and then, all flock here.

As mother with child  stands to go,
the willow cutter, too, straightens her back
and trudges heavy, arms filled with willow,
toward her car far up the beach.
As  sun like a cauldron  steams into the hill,
horses stream smoothly back to claim their turf,
and the other willow cutters circle longer, telling stories, moving slow.
Children run races with the night as sure as new willows
grow stubbornly from the ground of parents
uprooted, but victorious.

This is a poem written the year I moved to Lake Chapala, eighteen  years ago.  Every day for two years, I walked on land that had formerly been lake. There were acres of willow that I later learned townspeople were hired to clear before Semana Santa, when hordes of tourists from Guadalajara always descended.  I was there to cut willow to make lamps. When the lake came up to its former banks a few years later, all of those willows, that grew back yearly, were destroyed.  Only their bones now stick up when the lake recedes a bit again every year.  They make perfect roosting places for birds. I rarely walk on the lakeside anymore. The lake has remained high enough so all of my former walking places are under water.  Instead, I stay home and write poems and post blogs. As usual, click on any photo to enlarge all.

Fuchsia: FOTD, May 30, 2019

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For Cee’s FOTD

Spring Green: FOTD, May 29, 2019

 

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For Cee’s FOTD

What the White Owl Knew

What the White Owl Knew

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Strange things happen when you stay up all night. I first discovered this at the age of nine, when my friend Rita and I played Monopoly all night and sneaked down the stairs and went outside to see the sun come up. It was strange to hear traffic start out on the highway two blocks away, to see the milkman begin his rounds, to see the sky turn from black to gray to pink to a bleeding gold.

Sixty-two years later, I have just had a similar experience. After a sleepless night, just as I was ready to fall asleep, I experienced leg cramps along with a difficulty in breathing that I’ve tended to have lately. It is not exactly that I can’t breathe, but a feeling that perhaps soon I won’t be able to.  These two factors drove me outside and into the pool which, although it had been too hot to swim in at midnight, now had cooled to a lukewarm temperature above body temperature, but barely. (My pool is filled every other day with water from very hot mineral springs.)

Not feeling like doing my regular exercises, I floated and swam a bit, but very soon noticed a very large light just above the horizon. At first I thought it was another in a series of recent wildfires lifting its head over the mountain. It was a large glowing shape much bigger than the moon. I had looked at my alarm clock as I rose from my bed, and at 5 a.m., surely the moon wouldn’t just be rising.  It was clouded like a fire obscured by smoke, and for a good five or ten minutes, I was sure this was what it must be, but as it rose higher over the neighbor’s house, I realized that it was something in the sky. It was roughly oval in shape, with the points of the oval pointing up and down, not side-to-side.

As it rose higher in the sky it grew larger but stayed indistinct—like a large fuzzy, uneven-sided bright oval  larger than the sun and somewhat fuzzied and diluted by clouds. It had an otherworldly effect and as the stars came out above it, it seemed in stark contrast to the clear silhouettes of the palm trees further to the West. Did the moon ever rise at 5 a.m.? Surely not. The moon rose at night and set in the morning as the sun rose.  Could this be the sun rising at 5 a.m.?  If so, there were no colors of sunrise flooding the sky around it.

Much too big for a plane, what sort of phenomenon could it be? The very early morning darkness gave no other hint of the day to come. I floated in a surreal eeriness, tempted to go in to look up moonrise and moonset times, but some superstition and need to see what happened next kept me floating in the warm soup of my pool. Suddenly, something large lifted into the sky above the neighbor’s house and flew directly in front of the glowing object in the sky to swoop over the pool and then barely clear the roof of my house in a swift arc. At first stunned by what seemed to be part of the eerie situation of the light in the sky, I soon realized that It was a large white owl–one my friend Patty had seen twice years ago but which I had never seen in the eighteen years I’ve been living in this house.

I floated, stirring arms and legs as though flying myself, completely mesmerized by what seemed like magic. Who would believe it? All-in-all, I remained in the pool for a half hour, watching the eerie light as it rose almost imperceptibly higher. Its shape was nebulous, as though hidden behind thick clouds, at times growing more pointed, like a vague quarter moon with its tips pointing to the right and a bit tilted to the left.
Until finally, without ever rising 1/16th of the way across the sky, within seconds it vanished.  One second it was there, the next gone.

Was it thick clouds that had obscured it that quickly? Only the evening before, I had found my waterproof camera and looked in vain for its battery. If I had located it, I could have taken a photo of the phenomenon. With the light gone and the water cooling, I groped my way up the steps from the pool and into my bedroom, where I dried off, slipped into my nightgown and picked up the laptop I’d abandoned in bed.

“Moonrise and Moonset for Ajijic, Mexico” I typed into the browser and was quickly presented with the following information:

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Moonrise, 3:29 a.m., Moonset, 3:33 p.m. How could I have not known that the moon sometimes rises and sets in the daytime? By the 31st of the month it will rise at 5:17 a.m.!  I then remember having seen the moon in the sky long after the sun has risen, but somehow what my eyes have seen has not been seized by my mind!

It now occurs to me that  I can take my regular camera out to see if there is anything to see. I do so, looking up at the totally dark sky. The first birds have begun their twittering even though no light other than a few stars prompts their songs. I see one wispy cloud in the pitch black sky, a bit higher than the light I had seen a half hour before.  And then I see a brief glow which vanishes before I can snap a photo.

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Darkness.

Then another dim glow. It has to be the moon emerging now and then from behind clouds. I snap photo after photo but nothing shows up in the frames I check. Then suddenly, one more chance. I snap the shutter, click to see what I have captured.

It is not much, but it has at last assumed a vague moon size and shape and at least it is faint proof of my last hour’s adventure.

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The first church bells of the morning peal out. When I return to my room,  It is 6 a.m. by my bedside clock.

I look again at the screenshots I’ve made from the moonrise/moonset site.

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What the white owl has probably always know I have learned for the first time tonight.

Cleo’s Birthday Bouquet

For Cleo’s 98th birthday, she and her husband John treated 30 or more friends to dinner and drinks at Viva Mexico.  As we were all leaving, Tia Lupita presented Cleo with these gorgeous flowers from her garden. It’s the most beautiful bouquet I’ve seen in years and Cleo is the most beautiful birthday girl I’ve seen in that time as well.  She lives just a block from me and is John’s bride of two years. Happy Birthday, once again, Cleo!!

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Click on photo to enlarge.

For Cee’s FOTD

“All Lined Up” Photo Challenge

All Lined Up

(Click on first photo to enlarge all.)

There seems to be so little we can control lately, but perhaps this challenge will help restore some vestige of order.  Send me your most inspired photos on the subject of  “All Lined Up” by putting a link to your blog post in comments below.

Be sure to see others who have published links to  their “All Lined Up” photos below in the Comments section:

No Sympathy

No Sympathy

I fear I’m barely lucid, for digestion dominates.
I’ve just had a sumptuous banquet of pork shank, rice and dates.
I know it’s fairly common to gorge and then complain,
yet I’m sure that the world’s hungry would gladly share our pain.

 

Prompts today were sumptuous, common, lucid and dominate. Here are links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/05/27/rdp-monday-sumptuous/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/05/27/fowc-with-fandango-common/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/05/27/your-daily-word-prompt-lucid-may-27-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/05/27/dominate/

Tongue in Cheek

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Tongue in Cheek 

If you cannot still your tongue and it tends to flutter,
my remedy’s a sandwich of bread and peanut butter.
It is the perfect cure-all. If your problem is your stuttering,
it quickly turns your dialogue into a slower muttering.
And if your daily habit is reorganizing clutter,
a palate full of pb gives a different way to putter. 

Although you may be jealous that I have a sure solution
for stuttering and puttering, please grant me absolution.
Don’t hold my thoughts against me as I offer resolution
to problems such as famine, global warming and pollution,
then give my sure-fire remedy for war and revolution.
I simply cannot help that I’m ahead in evolution!

I tend to wax nostalgic when I think of all the times
I’ve solved our planet’s problems within my daily rhymes,
for as I view predicaments in all the different climes—
political maneuverings and other selfish crimes—
all the foolish misdeeds best abandoned in our primes—
I feel I owe it to the world to dish out paradigms!!!

If my constant words of wisdom set your stomachs churning,
cause regret to fill your minds and set your eyes to burning,
if you reject solutions, thereby all my wisdom spurning,
considering “unfollowing” and never once returning,
please reconsider doing so. Try being more discerning.
And let me be your guru—your font of further learning!!!

 

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The prompts today are putter, jealous, nostalgic and return. Here are links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/05/26/rdp-sunday-putter/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/05/26/fowc-with-fandango-jealous/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/05/26/your-daily-word-prompt-nostalgic-may-26-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/05/26/return/

Gnarly: Sunday Trees, May 26, 2019

Gnarly

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For Sunday Trees.

Connections

It’s time we heard more stories like this one. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

momshieb's avatarNot for sissies

My husband is a very good human. He is kind, thoughtful, gentle. Pretty much everyone likes him.

Paul was a shy and quiet child, but grew into himself as an adult. He’s a constant surprise to old friends who knew him way back in High School, because he’s now the most social one of all of us.

Now that he is an outgoing, confident adult (and a successful and well respected psychologist), he has begun to articulate what it is that makes him reach out to strangers.

“It’s all about the connections,” he tells me. “Life is about making connections with other human beings.”

I know that he’s right, but I am not always as open or as non-judgmental as he is. But I try to be open. I try to greet people with a smile and a welcome.

Today that attitude paid off for me, as I made a…

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