reading,
listening to birds
the gurgling of water,
looking up to watch
four hummingbirds challenge
each other at the feeder, and
I notice I’m surrounded by flowers
and the scent of orange blossoms.
Delights – 5
flora
Delights–4
Spring
Bird songs
Bougainvillea wall climbing
Essence of orange
Peach blossoms
Beauty
Joy
Delights–Three
There is nothing like meeting a goal while enjoying it to bring a sense of delight as well as accomplishment. I walk daily–today I arrived at day 707 without ever missing a day–looking at the flowers, visiting with all the other walkers. I live in a walking neighborhood with friendly walkers who at a minimum wave. Some stop to chat and some check on me if they have not seen me out walking in a while because of the different routes we take or different times we walk. One particular person who checks on me taught me how to make some of her native food–India. Another lady several blocks away prefers to walk with others, not alone, so if she sees me out, we join together in the company of her little dog, June, whom I have never seen actually walking. June rides in a baby carriage.
Now, as I write this, I’m enjoying another late afternoon of delight in my backyard. The hibiscus is full of ruby flowers. Freeway daisies, bright white and purple, pop up everywhere. Four different colors of bougainvillea sport their joy. One nasturtium–they are popping in places I never even planted–is sporting the same color of ruby as the hibiscus. The lemon tree is full of almost ripe lemons some of which I have promised to friends and neighbors. One woman cannot eat all these lemons. Meanwhile, I listen to different birds singing their varied songs and to the gurgle of the water fountain by the Nile Blue French doors and watch the hummingbird who is watching me.
I feel grateful to be surrounded in beauty and quiet joy.
Delights–2
As a person who works with high school students mostly non-white, many of whom have family members who are undocumented, I worry and need to find daily delights to stay sane. I decided to make a list of some of the past week’s delights:
-afternoons 70 degrees, sunny, no wind
-hummingbirds sipping nectar from both flowers and the two feeders
-singing a song the lyrics of which come from a poem by Langston Hughes where he dreams a world with no racism
-sitting on the back patio, listening to birdsong while I read a book about delights
-learning that all the rains have eliminated drought in California
-appreciating all the colors of the flowers blooming in my yard
Garden of Delights
A garden of delights
my my new goal.
Why do I/we need
such a garden?
Sanity, yours and mine.
Genocide in Gaza, Sudan,
eastern Congo, probably
even in other places where
there’s no news.
Poverty here in the richest
nation on Earth.
Poverty my neighbor seems
shocked when I tell her.
People living in condemned
trailers, no heat, no water–
It’s freezing inside.
People surviving, barely.
Malnourished children, big
hungry eyes, staring.
A garden of delights
my new goal.
Why do I/we need
such a garden?
Masked men and some women
attacking people in the streets,
in their homes,
knocking down doors.
smashing windows.
You’d think I’m describing
Russia, Nazi Germany
but no, I’m describing
happenings in my own
county and
across the US.
A garden of delights
my new goal.
Sanity = Delights
I look out my window
purple mountains loom
in crystalline air.
Recent rains create
emerald hills,
blooming freeway daisies,
roses in my garden,
pink, sunset colors, snow.
Bougainvillea the color of blood
climbs my garden wall.
The turquoise fountain gurgles.
Photo of daughter and grandson
make me smile.
Symbols, sacred corn grace
walls and make me
remember cornfields in summer
when on a hot day
I could hear corn grow.
Three different pine trees whisper,
the Soleri bell rings in wind.
Ah, yes, I live in a garden,
a garden of delights.
And I remain sane
for at least one
more day.
Santa Barbara Botanical Garden
gurgling water
redwoods sighing
peace
Note: All the plants in this 78 acre garden are native to the area including the coastal redwoods.
Spring at The Huntington
Breezes caress
Scents of jasmine, roses
Rainbow colors
These are growing on a large rock.
“Barbie Doll”–in honor of my mother
Barbara Lewis Duke, pretty, petite, blue-eyed and blond, my
mother, one fearless, controlling woman. Long after Mom’s
death, Dad said, “Barbara was afraid of absolutely on one
and nothing.” They married late, 34 & 38. He adored her
unconditionally. She filled my life with horses, music, love,
cornfields, hay rides, books, and ambition. Whatever she felt she
had missed, my sister and I were going to possess: books,
piano lessons, a college education. Her father, who died long
before I was born, loved fancy, fast horses. So did she. During
my preschool, croupy years, she quieted my hysterical night
coughing with stories of run away horses pulling her in a wagon.
With less than one hundred pounds and lots of determination,
she stopped them, a tiny Barbie Doll flying across the Missouri
River Bottom, strong, willful, free.
Note: This was first published in an anthology and later in my poetry memoir, “On the Rim of Wonder.” My mom loved the color pink and roses, had a rose garden. In the summer there were always crystal bowls on the dining table with roses floating. Today I have roses floating in two stemmed crystal bowls in my kitchen.
Imagine–1
Imagine a world full of roses.
Book 13 for 2025: “Honey Hunger”, Zahran Alqasmi
This Omani author has won prizes for his fiction. Only a few of his books have been translated into English. This one takes the reader into the remote villages and mountain regions of the interior of Oman. Azzan, the main character, had received highest honors as a child and teen for his academic excellence but fails to win a coveted scholarship to travel abroad for college. His father, who is mainly absent during his growing up, berates him, and Azzan turns to alcohol and addiction. Eventually, he saves himself by becoming a beekeeper. He finds solace in the more remote, wild regions rather than the narrow confines of village life which is controlled by gossip and tradition.
In these wild areas he meets two other men. Although they do not keep domestic bees, they go camping together in the far mountain areas hunting for the prized honey from wild bees. One of these men is a Bedouin who trains prized racing camels. Through him and his wife and friends, he learns how much freer Bedouin culture is compared to that of the settled villages. He learns to dance and talk more freely with women. While in one remote area, he meets a woman, Thamna, who too has escaped the traditional village life and roams the wadis and mountains with her herd of goats always looking for better pasture. He becomes obsessed with her, always on the outlook as he keeps his bees and roams the interior of Oman hunting bees.
This story is not only about Azzan, but also his friends, traditional Omani village life, bee culture, and Bedouin life. For those interested in bee keeping, the author provides detailed descriptions of bee keeping. The language is poetic and infinitely descriptive. I could feel the wind, smell the different wild flowers and the taste of the honey created from them, see the Bedouin dancing, and feel Azzan’s heartbreak when disaster hits.
Although this novel describes a culture far different from that of the US and Europe, I found some things not all that dissimilar: the strict rules of small town life, the greater freedom found in nature, how people develop and lose interpersonal relationships. The language used makes the reader feel there in the moment being described. Plus I learned that bee keeping is very labor intensive and wrought with many things that can go wrong. I eat honey daily and now will have a greater appreciation of what goes into its production and harvesting.
writingontherim 