Glacier National Park
48.6967° N, 113.7183° W
Colorado National Monument
39.0427° N, 108.6861° W
Saguaro National Park
32.2500° N, 110.5000° W
Acadia National Park
44.3500° N, 68.2167° W
Gettysburg National Military Park
39.8124° N, 77.2357° W
Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park
38.5667° N, 107.7167° W
In my dream, the gulls all fly up at once, shadows of sharks in the surf, a thunderstorm in the afternoon, the beach smells like rain
If you have the time, girdle the tree, and let gravity bring it down. In the hole where the roots were, the skeleton of a bear.
Wait for it to cool down at night but it does not On the bed, under the ceiling fan, in the dark, our pupils swell, we close our eyes
And in garden, there is a bird bath in the shade below the pomegranate tree, the fruit hangs dry on the branches, the songbirds sing, they sing because it’s spring
Maybe I have been bitten by a ghost.
Bloodroot, may flowers (trailing arbutus) violets, bellwort, foam flower, jack in the pulpit, red trillium, gold thread, wild sasparilla, solomons seal, bunchberry, clintonia, star flower, twisted stalk, lady slipper, canada mayflower, false solomons seal, indian cucumber root, twin flower
And the coyotes in the wash, I thought that they were birds and that on our horses we scared them up and that they were flying away, but they were coyotes and the big black dog chased them up onto the banks of the Two Medicine and across a wet meadow and past a very still owl and up into the aspen trees. We gave the black dog some onions and our apple cores and we pulled ticks off of his ears. The owl was cursed and is only allowed to hunt at night, and the old Indian is named Mouse because when he was a little boy he ate out the center of a slice of bread just like a mouse would.
Pollinated by bats, primarily the lesser long-nosed bat. The sweet ruby-red fruit will mature in June.
the transience, the doldrums
L’Isle des Monts Desert (island of the barren mountains)
If I am driving to hungry horse, I am driving to you
Appodumken, the sea monster
Bass Harbor Head, winds from the southwest, storm blows downeast, sun comes out and then goes down
And here in the ghost forest of (beetle killed + white bark) pine, with grizzly bear in the krummholz, on the colicky sheep ranch near Dillon, on horseback with flies in my earholes.
Walking the stream, picking maggots out of the dead porcupine to catch trout. And where do they keep the macaws?
Deer bedding down for the day in tall grass, antlers in velvet.
Sound of steller’s jay swooping of swift and swallow
Sonoran desert – saguaro cactus just beginning to bloom. The flowers open at night and remain open in the cool of early morning. They are pollinated by bats, primarily the lesser long –nosed bat. The sweet ruby-red fruit will mature by June.
This occluded place, where I walk with wet feet, with mosquito and deer fly. But in the clearing, lilac blossoms drop on the porch and they look like shark teeth.
While we sleep invisible bees pollinate the apple trees. Pink blossoms, white flowers, red fruit.
The children taught us to see animals, the fawn born with no scent at all, to be left alone in the sage brush along the Blackfoot river, to be left alone in the soft duff of fallen pine needles on the shore of Megunticook Lake. The jiggling udder of the doe as she moves down the slope to her fawn.
The life span of a bowhead whale, the life span of a smart pink bird,
And the whale can live for 200 years and then die with so many secrets.
Kayenta vertebrate paleofauna
The animals are busy eating. We grow old slowly.
Sometimes the birds just sit there and sing. Sometimes the birds just sit there.
Now we’re dreading the fullness, haunted by memories of blackflies, torpor,
horses rubbing on horses
The sapwood hardens. The rain turns to snow
White is the color of death, but the snow is melting. And under the snow, so much moss.
Haunted hayfield, valley of death – that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation under god, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
maritime, archaic, towards the source of the wind
And in my dream I remembered to tell you why I don’t care. I don’t care because my head is the head of a grizzly bear and that I was eaten by raven and rats. In the fall the bear eats dirt and then crawls into a hole. In the spring he eats roots and winter kill and then berries.
Askomalokot (the permanent hole)
For the mountains we had a means of fire, and a means of fishing, and a means of coffee. The lake smelled like bass brains. We swam under the water.
And we stop to rest. Sleeping on balsam tips, dreaming of the short foggy summer. The greenness, the wetness.