NEW/OLD STOVE--SPRING' FEVER EVERY YEAR

I have a new/old working  electric stove as of Friday morning

~YAY~

As the anxiety of the weeks' waiting dissipated, I grew relaxed enough for a lovely long nap.  I dreamed of a controlled fire one year in Massachusetts.

Burning Dead Wood

Rising, renewed, I spent a few slow hours on clean up of all the things I'd removed, while snacking on the foods I'd prepared to get me through the siege.

I am amazed at the luxury I'd become used to.

How sharp the turn of mood when it was gone.  

 Easy to see now that wall needs washing.

My kitchen world is settling back into itself.

~SPRING~

This second shift will halt and drift
until in May it bursts all barriers with it's gaudy gift.

One Years' New England Storm

Another Years' Blue Sky
 
Geese At Harlem Meer
In Yet Another Year

There was a golden sunset then

 
~POEM~

Forth Into View, Random Warriors

by Pattiann Rogers

 

The slender checkered beetle, pale

earth brown, sallies forth from among

the bark canals of the oak, the eaten mar

of the woody gall left dying.  Her spiny

yellow hairs sparkle in the summer sun.

Lacewings, locust, and laurel loosen

cocoon, carapace, and bud, shimmy out

and pause, airing wings expanding like rumpled

petals, spreading petals opening like slatted

wings, as they pass into the new world.

Toe by toe the children of the sun depart

from the east out of living fire to become

spikes, glumes, anthers, sheaves, broad

montane grassland, flowing steppe,

savannah, veld, wild horse pampas.

The fiddler crab with his royal blue

spot emerges beside the great charging

dawn of the morning sea, scuttles sideways

out of the drenched sands and savory

mud bank of the tidal marsh.

Now echoes in cougar lairs, snake crannies,

coon burrows, the hillside den of gray fox.

Moonrat's  nose appears from the crevice

in the bluff, sniffing fish and wormy mud.

Turtle's beak shows at shell's edge first.

Claws and feet extend directly.

                       

The smooth, golden-green swale

of the trout swivels upward, breaks

through the boundaries of sky

with its mouth wide open gulping day.

After parting the flap, after gripping

the knob, after lifting the latch, after kicking

the door until the hinges crack and fail

and the hindrance falls, then the jaunt,

the saunter, the sprint, the lope, the totter,

ramble and meander, the traipse and slink,

the shamble, shuffle, gallop and glide,

the push against the beyond begins.

~Back To The Present~

Three flights up in the Manhattan Pre-war Building I've lived in since 1969, currently enjoying Saturdays' broadcast of 'A Prarie Home Companion' with a tune from The Battlefield Band while supper readies itself inside the stove.

~Tra-La-La-ha~

http://youtu.be/TUWNW0xUSaw