A fly mistook
My ear
For shelter
And it wasn’t even raining.
“Fly in there and die,”
I thought.
Lately I think too much about dying.
And as he tried to back out,
I heard him thunder
While I shouted,
Shook my head
And pounded my ear.
He rested a silent moment,
Then flew out the window
Into the June-blue sky.
[138]
I got a little ambitious and put together a six color reduction print of a bluebird for my granddaughter. Generally, I am pleased with the bird, but the elderberries he’s standing on are a tangled mess and it’s hard to distinguish between the purple of the berries and the black of the branches. Small spheres are hard! As compensation, I learned a lot about composition and technique. Glad I did it; I should do it again someday and make it better. Edition of 12, approx. 4″ x 4″
[129]
The otter floats, playfully aware,
on the currents and the tides.
She dives to examine
an interesting stone.
She turns it every way
in the sunshine,
floating on her back.
She flips it away
and finds another.
It, too, is interesting,
turned in the air,
maybe for the first time in a thousand years
or, perhaps, since last week.
It smells of the water.
It slips away.
She does not keep the interesting stones.
They would weigh her down.
She would drown in her sleep.
She darts to the bottom.
She pries a fish from a crevice
and returns to the surface current,
always floating on her back,
enjoying her lunch.
Sometimes she spies a clam.
She also finds the right anvil stone and,
again floating on her back in the currents,
beats the clam on the stone
she balances on her stomach.
It is primal and
it is dinner.
She releases the clam shell and the stone.
One plunges to the bottom.
The other rocks back and forth in descent.
Tomorrow:
different stones,
different clams.