Autumn


As a summer person, I’m less excited than others I know to see it end. This abecedarian poem allowed me to experiment with words without searching for profound meanings, allowed me to play.

Autumn

brings

chills

dreary

evenings

fog.

Gone

heat

intense

joy.

Kindness

lingers while I

meander

near

oceans

playing

quickly,

running in

sunshine.

Tomorrow

under a

vanishing

wind in a

xeroscape

yard, I will

Zoom my next meeting.

Visiting Chaco Canyon


Several weeks ago, I spent a day wandering around the ancient sites where native peoples gathered over a thousand years ago.

This explains the extensive influence this place, located in the northwestern New Mexico desert, held for people from as far away as Central America. To reach this park, you have to drive on a dirt/gravel, rough road for more than 25 miles north of Crownpoint, NM. It is definitely worth the effort. However, it is impassable in rainy or snowy weather. The rangers who care for the park live there.

One of the first things you see as you get closer to the park is this rock tower, Fajada Butte.

Archeologists climbed to the top and discovered petroglyphs, “Sun Daggers”. Created between rock slabs, they align with each solstice and equinox and at these events the light projects to other sites, e.g. Pueblo Bonito. Other petroglyphs on a section of the canyon wall represent a supernova that occurred in 1054 CE.

The following depicts an overview of the site as it would have been in the past. In the 1940s part of the wall of rock behind the site collapsed onto it and destroyed some of the buildings.

Here is how it looks today. Many of the doors and windows align with astronomical events, e.g. solstices, the two equinox, and astronomical events that occur only every 17 years.

All sites here contain many kivas, many of which are very large. It is speculated that these were used for various sorts of ceremonies, including religious events.

In this view you can see how the rocks that fell from the cliff have destroyed parts of the structures.

Many of the buildings were several stories high. In their heyday, they did not look like this. They were covered with something like stucco and painted white. What an impressive site they must have been–large white structures in the middle of the brown desert. Archeologists think few people lived here. It was a place for gathering, for ceremonies, for trade, for people from long distances to meet.

Across from Pueblo Bonito is the largest kiva found in the area.

Behind the bars on the far side of the photo is an area that was used for ceremonial dancers to don their costumes. At the bottom you can see a depression with a small door. Before centuries of sand filled it in, this place would have be large enough for the ceremonial dancers to enter through it.

If you follow a trail along the cliff from Pueblo Bonito, you will find another area built at different times hundreds of years ago.

Another large kiva and many smaller ones are located at this site, including this famous long wall built at two different times.

The following shows where at some point the wall stopped, then later it was continued using somewhat different building material and techniques.

The top photo is considered the newer part of the wall.

The wood used for tops of windows and doors was brought from forests hundreds of miles away. The desert air has enable it to be preserved.

When you walk the trails, you see wild flowers and native plants. This is desert rhubarb and it is edible.

While these are photos of the more impressive structures at Chaco Canyon, more than two hundred ceremonial and meeting sites can be found in this area of NM and AZ.

Canyon de Chelley–Part One


One of the most famous canyons in the country resides inside the Dine (Navaho) Nation. While administered by the National Park service, it is also the home of several Dine families. You can drive through the roads on the top freely, stop at various viewpoints, take photos, etc. Here are the various views I saw last week while there. The bottom of the canyon is restricted. To go there, you need a permit and a Dine (Navaho) guide. More about that in the next post.

Several families live in the bottom of the canyon, especially during the summer months. You cannot go into the bottom of the canyon without a permit and a Navaho guide.

Two New Poems for National Poetry Month


Rainy Day

sheets of rain against the kitchen window

heavy fog hides mountain peaks

scarlet hibiscus and bougainvillea brighten

a gloomy day

Dusk

The wind died; stillness pervades.

A distant train whistle interrupts.

Tiny brown bird chirps its chitty song.

Mountains display navy blue and purple.

The western sky becomes cantaloupe color.

Walking in Pasadena Near Rose Bowl


Fearless little bird with chocolate brown head runs beside me

on the road. At the intersection I circle to the left, following

a familiar route. The heavy tree canopy here always astonishes.

It’s almost like walking in a forest.

The architectural variety amazes: mid-century modern, Spanish,

colonial, ranch, the smallest I am guessing contains 3500 sq. ft. One

house encompasses an entire city block, fronted with heavy, high

fences and metal gates. Privacy obsessed.

I’m watching my time. I don’t want to be late for singing

practice. I take a new route, perhaps a shortcut. It’s

120 degrees of a circle. Not quite a regular street,

not quite an alley, a combination–fronts of a few houses

and the backside of others. At one place it angles more;

I come to a three story stone fortress with intricate

geometrical designs vertically running up and down

the walls. No windows. A sign says, “No trespassing.”

Realization hits me. This is the other side of a house

I saw last year through a gap in a wall on another street.

Three ladies, strangers, asked me about it, told me they’d

heard it was the creation of a famous architect. I researched,

asked others, no one knew. Back then, I tried to find the front,

failed. Now I’m looking at it, wonderstruck. It appears abandoned,

an architectural wonder belonging to another time and place.

Time to rush, a bit lost, I look at my phone map, finish the loop,

find a familiar street, walk faster. Then I see a large, white, colonial house,

weeds knee high, black shutters hanging askew. Here it is abandoned

in the midst of multi-million dollar houses. I wonder what the neighbors

think. Walking on I hear water rushing, peer through the hedges–a stream

runs downhill from the side of this huge brown house at least 100 feet

and gurgles in a pool behind the bushes. Hurrying, I stop in front of one

of my favorite houses, a one-story, tan, Spanish style, small compared

to the others nearby. I take a photo of the tree in front by the sidewalk,

its impressive girth impossible to ignore.

Finally, I’m near my destination, walking in front of The Gamble House,

a tourist destination made famous by the movie, “Back to the Future”,

a structure I see at least twice a week.

Poems


I started out thinking I would write a poem per day for National Poetry Month. Well, I’m a bit behind on that, but here are two of several I have written so far.

Spring

The mockingbird awakens me with his song.

A hummingbird, dressed in green with an iridescent

orange collar, flits by my head then sips nectar

from a scarlet bougainvillea blossom.

The neighborhood barn owl hoots at dawn and dusk.

A black and red/orange bird I’ve never seen before

lights on a palo verde limb.

A Western Bluebird dips its beak repeatedly in

the talavera birdbath.

Remember

In this world steeped in senseless violence remember

each day to find a piece of beauty:

-rosebuds opening

-the scent of jasmine

-a friend’s smile

-a bit of birdsong

In this world ravaged by wars remember

each day to find the jewels of joy:

-listen to a child’s laughter

-dance to a favorite song

-walk in the morning sunshine

-tell someone you love them

Perfect Spring Day


They tell writers, “Never ever use cliches.”

Sometimes I question that. When you

word a cliche, nearly everyone knows

exactly what you mean. For example:

This is a perfect spring day:

-birdsong wafting here and there,

mostly mockingbirds except for those

irredescent, orange-throated

hummingbirds at their feeder

-wind singing through the pines

-open windows for a change; it’s

75 degrees and sunny

-magenta and scarlet bougainvillea

climbing the garden wall

-white and lavender lantana

outdoing themselves with

spread and bloom

-geraniums in full flower

-mint growing so fast and tall

I already need to trim it.

I lounge on the patio reading

another novel, drinking rosewater

lassi, munching mixed nuts.

I feel gratitude for this

perfect spring day.

The First Time I Saw the Nile


Riding hours through emerald mountains

to Bahir Dar.

We drove up a steep road,

monkeys begging near the roadside.

Car parked, we climbed a steep hill.

There she was

The NILE

a silver ribbon far below

grassy fields

two white robed people

walked, hippos barely visible.

The NILE

I cried,

a life’s longing fulfilled.

The NILE

Flowing from Lake Tana,

she lay below me,

the legendary river,

ancient people, ancient stories,

builder of civilizations,

of life.

The NILE.