Coyote Moon

The moon had risen and night was late
When I found I could no longer wait
But setting my tread at a measured pace
And determining my steps could not be traced
I left the house by the garden gate

And following the stars in their ageless race
I watched the moon’s uncaring face
And flinched at sounds I could not see
Or thoughts that threatened restlessly
Pondering the bitterness of grace

Until I woke to the lingering wail
That coyotes weave when the moon is veiled
To find myself at the fire side
In the window seat where I’d come to hide
And think, before my dreams assailed.

Stop Frame

She was always in motion
Hands, feet, smile flashing suddenly
And unexpectedly.
When she dashed out on the sidewalk and
Collided with him on his bike, it was like
A meteor crashing into a
Dark lake
At midnight.
She shattered his calm
And set the world to dancing,
And when he stared up at her face,
Everything
Else disappeared in a
Haze of gold.
He never knew what hit him.

Day in the life

I'm working at the office today...as I did yesterday...as I did tomorrow. I'm even getting paid for it, which is extra pleasing to my soul. But right now there is a creepy person staring through the door of the first prep-and-care room, and I'm sitting directly in his line of sight and it's weirding me out. But, ya know, creepers gotta creep. I just smile back and think, I've got Mace in my purse with your name on it...

What was really, really extra super funny earlier today was when I was leading a new patient, a first timer, back to the second room to wait until dad finished with his patient, a gentleman with a propensity to be a drama queen of the first order. Supposedly, his toe was somewhat sore, and just as we passed the door, dad tweaked it.

The man wasn't really that loud, but he let out this wail, "Ooooooooooooo....", and fell back in his chair and--I kid you not--threw his hand up to his forehead, while dad briskly trims a callous with a bright, shiny scalpel.

Needless to say, that is not exactly the first thing you want to see when you walk into a new office for the first time. I glanced up at this big hulking guy beside me, and his eyes get really wide. He might even have gone a little pale around the edges. I tried to smile as reassuringly as I could, and I saw him gripping the armrests.

I left him in his room, walked outside, and laughed.

Freize

We sat on the grass & rested after an hour of hard work & watched the sun start to drop. There was a small humming that grew and grew exponentially & we looked up & suddenly we were in a cloud of golden honey bees. The humming sank into our skin & we stood up and lifted our arms & felt the barest brush of thousands of wings, & when they passed to new lands we waved goodbye.

She walked barefoot along the wet path & felt the rain begin to fall through the thick leaves, setting the ferns to nodding & painting circles on the surface of the creek. She was wet to the skin and it seemed natural to be soaked into the soil through the dead leaves underfoot, & when the rain suddenly grew voices & brought snatches of conversation from far away, riding on the water in the air, she stopped & turned up her face & laughed.

Exchange

Strain backwards, pull the weed free of the dirt. Straighten and wipe the sweat away, let it fall like rain on the earth that stretches far and farther to the forest. I smile, because no matter how strong those weeds are rooted in, they aren't half as strong as me. I'm in deep, here, sunk in this soil like the sugar maples we tap, and here my roots stay.

This land calls to me, pulls me in and wraps me close enough to hear the thrumming heartbeat. I never thought that the evening could be spicy, racy, feisty, but it is. No matter where I go, I'll always remember this smell and feel and slant of evening light.

Sometimes I think the dirt in these calluses, tracing my palm, has steeped into my blood. The next weed I pull has thorns, and I laugh. My land has a bite and I love it. If my blood has the same composition as the riverwater below, it's no problem to shed it here and loose it into the soil again.

It seems only a fair exchange, to me.

Shake a Fist

I can't do it, anymore. I can't look up at a black sky without feeling my stomach clench, like a fist has just been buried in it. I can't see lightning flash past the trees without dropping everything and making sure everyone is inside, and safe. When the storm is rolling through, I can't stay away from the window, always watching, watching for...what? I don't even like to say it. That's how bad it is. Ever since the storm in Tennessee.

Fear...makes me angry. Also, people who aren't aware of how easy it is to get hurt, to die. Who don't take precautions of any sort. I told them, Mother Nature is a b****. You do not mess with Mother Nature.

So I don't know what to do now. If you're afraid, you're supposed to face your fear and conquer it. But I don't know how to face this--because it's rooted in truth. And I'm not about to stand out in the field in a lightening storm singing, "I'm a little lightning rod for Jesus," like I used to as a kid. (A very little kid.)

Blehg. This is getting nowhere. Maybe I will go sing in the next storm.

Duckness

I'm realizing--again--that while I love being home, summers at home are lonely. At least I had something to study last year, but the MCAT has come and gone and I don't even have a job to keep me distracted. I'd be leaving too soon to have one/I'm gone most weekends/there's nowhere to work around here--but still. I'm basically useless and I hate it. (Oh, I took Mary Ellen back to Morgantown for a day. That was...enlightening. Apparently the older generation doesn't realize that racial slurs aren't appropriate anymore. I just about died.)

But, on the other hand...this is the Summer of the Ducks. There are eight of them, now, all growing fast and completely lovable. I realize that most people don't know what it feels like to have little bills nibbling your toes, or fingers, or shirt hems, and you guys are all missing out.

Home sweet chicken house-thing.

They got put out in the playhouse for the first time last night. They'll be warm, because I rigged a heat lamp, and they have our half-grown chickens for company (which is not appreciated by either party). I was outside, trying to convince them that they wanted to be outside too--but they took their own sweet time coming out. They do this little belly-surfing thing, when they're not sure they want to be somewhere other than where they are. They'll be laying there, nibbling, and then they just plow forward a little, one at a time, until they're all relocated. Cute but maddeningly slow.

The outside world is a very big place.

They're wonderfully distinct, if you know what to look for. Flash is lighter than the other ducks and has only one stripe down his face instead of two. Spikemo is skinny, and for the first week his head feathers were all matted together in a mini, icky mohawk. Brutae is the biggest and most agressive, while Weebler (he couldn't walk very well when he hatched) is the most affectionate, as well as the smallest.

Trying to convince them that they should use the ramp. They were not amused. I've had better (cleaner) ideas.

Dasta has a greyer chest and doesn't like being touched, unless it's on his terms. Shen is the most noncommittal, and his stripes are slanted so he looks Asian. Smudge is always anxious--she even wakes up from a sound sleep, tucked in the crook of my arm, to chirp and make sure I'm still around. And Taz has a really heavy stripe, like mascara that was smeared. Yes, I am serious. They are all that different. For some reason, people have a hard time believing.

When they decide it's time to sleep, there is no budging them.

I dragged a kiddie pool out to their pen today, and filled it up to the brim with water. They took a lot of coaxing, because this is the first time I've had them around so much water since they were born, but eventually they were all bouncing in and around.

All eight of the little dripping rascals.

It was so funny--the first one I threw in was Taz, and he just bobbed there, feet all splayed out, wondering what in the world was going on. And then, he just gave this odd chirp and took off, diving under the water and streaking around like a mad duck. I was laughing too hard to catch it on camera.

Weebler

Eventually I got tired of wading, and just scooped them and tossed them in. They loved it, I loved it...what a beautiful day.



Shen

If I can't have people around, well...ducklings are a pretty close second.

I tried sticking a vid on but it didn't work. Maybe tomorrow.

Cackle Quack

I'm sitting in a hotel in Morgantown. You don't know why. Yet.

It was a chain of events, really. One decision, leading to another, and another. Some choices aren't really choices--sure, you can say yes, or no, but you really...can't. I couldn't. So I'm sitting in a hotel at Morgantown.

My mom works at a Wound Care Center, and one of her patients is this 91 year old lady, whom I now call "Miss Mary." She's quite spunky, running all around and not letting anyone get the better of her. It turns out, though, that she needed a minor surgery that, despite being so minor, could not be done in Lewisburg. Due to its nature, she could also not drive after having this surgery.

From what I hear of her family, her daughter isn't the type to do much more than take mom's money. So she had no one to drive her, and was considering cancelling the surgery.

So she made the first choice in our line--she told my mom about her problems. Actually, now that I know her much, much better than I ever thought I would, she probably told everyone. So at this point our line of decisions isn't too specific.

For those of you who know my mom, you are already aware that she is the sweetest person ever. She tries to fix everyone's problems and make them happy, and usually she succeeds very well. So in her infinite kindness, she said--you know it--"My daughter is home for the summer, and she doesn't have anything to do." And miss Mary was so excited to hear that she didn't have to cancel her procedure

That was the second choice. It's funny how quickly your options start to narrow, and then disappear. In the course of their conversation following my mom's decision to mention my name, my options disappeared. There's only so far you can go before saying "No, I'd rather not" puts you in the same inescapable category as, say, Hitler. Or Satan.

So here I am. We're going home today. Maybe. We have an hour and a half left until we have to check out, and I am firm in my belief that it will take every single minute of that time for us to actually depart. We took 45 minutes to eat breakfast this morning. Bless her heart, and she keeps talking about stopping on the way home and eating again. Home, by the way, is 3 1/2 hours away.

Oh, and in case you think I'm an awful, impatient person, I had baby ducks hatching out when I left home. They are...well. I will definitely post again tonight with pictures. But the two that were out when I left would come running, when they saw me, and jump up in my lap, scrambling with their little webbed, clawed feet. They would curl up in the crook of my arm and nibble my wrist until they fell asleep, their heads turned so they could look up into my face. I fell in love, and right now I am jumping to get home. Because now there are eight wee duckies.

So that's why I'm sitting in a hotel in Morgantown. Still. There are forty minutes to checkout now. I'm actually not sure if we'll be home before five. Before we started on this adventure, I thought we'd be home at this point on Wednesday. The gods are laughing at me about now, howling and rolling around most likely.

Here goes. I'm going to try and get us home.