The hills are alive with Memorial Day campers and our world has changed. This morning the two blues and I headed out for some “alone time” in the national forest, as has become our habit. We were accustomed to tents in a few camp sites along the road as the weather has been warming, but this morning each one was filled.
When we rounded the bend for the parking lot I felt dismay when I saw the brown, iron gates that had blocked the roads on either side of the fork were now wide open. Since we moved here they had been closed to regular vehicles and only available for snowmobiles in the winter. Since mud season began we had been hiking in our own personal playground: the only souls in sight the trotting elk tails and also tracks from moose, deer, and bear. All that has changed.
We drove down the road we’ve walked a dozen times at least, parking where we normally turn around for our walk. Maybe half of the campsites along side the road had RVs, tents, and one white Subaru with a contorted yoga form we left in a cloud of dust.
Our untried trail claimed to be a loop and we found ourselves at the fence line of houses keeping watch over massive hayfields and the lake. The ancient mountains looked back, keeping watch over them.
The loop met up with the road, Stillwater Pass, and as we approached, two vehicles a few minutes apart passed in different directions. We trekked the gap down the road back to our truck, ready for cars, managing to jump off the road for the last one we met near where we parked. For months we had been alone. I had come to feel as if we were in our own backyard where my only concern was avoiding animals and their babies.
I’ve never been one for change, even though change is the one thing that we can count on. Still, with one ear cocked for ATVs, the other heard birdsong and squirrels. I was surrounded by pines and aspens, brand new flowers, and a vista sparkling with a lake and dripping in melting, snowcapped mountains. It’s just another day in paradise.
Cacophony announcing apocalypse,
Cattle dogs hard at work for the herd.
Ground squirrel, diving for cover while
Tongues lolling, muscles quivering, they wait.
When not pronouncing the end of the world
Their worlds end,
One each pressed to my sides,
Slack abandon in sleep.
This morning I carried my phone to the couch,
Intent on that morning coffee,
My husband in my hands (my heart, my
soul) on video, pixels of love.
Colorado sunlight glinting off the screen and
BAI YI YI AOURRRRRRRR AY! AY! AY!
Pure fur, pure voice, rigid in attack
Set off by no more than a glimmer.
I look into my husband’s eyes,
Pixel to pixel,
Me muting the phone to save his ears.
Together: “They are the best bad dogs ever.”
October 4th Plath Poetry Project calendar
Sylvia Plath’s The Arrival of the Bee Box
And now for our daily prompt (optional, as always). Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem based on the Plath Poetry Project’s calendar. Simply pick a poem from the calendar, and then write a poem that responds or engages with your chosen Plath poem in some way.
Four wands working magic.
Country life for us.
Outside our home,
Forests for flying.
Followed by repose, concord, harmony.
We are rich, if not in money,
Then in time, love, and
Embellished by moment
After moment, a string of nows,
Until the present glows.
Beauty and joy, our domestic harvest.
I’ve never had a reading or even looked at a Tarot card before, but I gave the prompt a try:
Tarot Card (Wands Four): From the four great staves planted in the foreground there is a great garland suspended; two female figures uplift nosegays; at their side is a bridge over a moat, leading to an old manorial house. Divinatory Meanings: They are for once almost on the surface–country life, haven of refuge, a species of domestic harvest-home, repose, concord, harmony, prosperity, peace, and the perfected work of these. Reversed: The meaning remains unaltered; it is prosperity, increase, felicity, beauty, embellishment.
And now for today’s (optional) prompt. Following Lauren Hunter’s practice of relying on tarot cards to generate ideas for poems, we challenge you to pick a card (any card) from this online guide to the tarot, and then to write a poem inspired either by the card or by the images or ideas that are associated with it.
Metallic on the tongue, first.
Instinct made moment.
Primal senses snap into focus.
He steps over a fold in time,
Brush a lost crackle under
Deafening dog din.
Wild and nature and the
I capture him.
Cool plastic in my hands, me
Breathing in earth and growth and
From my back porch perch.
Snap as he snorts.
He is mine now, forever,
As he trots into the trees.
And now for our prompt (optional as always). Taking our cue from today’s craft resource, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that includes images that engage all five senses. Try to be as concrete and exact as possible with the “feel” of what the poem invites the reader to see, smell, touch, taste and hear.