Myanmar Then and Now-Part Two


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Something happened to my camera while in Burma when it was Burma years ago.  For this essay, I tried downloading current photos and found the panoramic view of the Shwedagon Pagoda above and the close up below.

 

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I looked at current photos of the Inya Lake Hotel and stared in astonishment.  The current luxurious resort bears no resemblance to the hotel I stayed in all those years ago.  Only the garden photos seem familiar.

As Myanmar attempts modernization, downsides exist.  One concern is deforestation and the consequences for the abundant rare and endangered wildlife there.  Much of Myanmar is rainforest and remains one of the most biodiverse areas in the world.  Fifty years of isolation and limited development have protected wildlife.  Foreign development and investment endanger wildlife.  New laws and polices are created daily.  The Irrawaddy dolphin, a close relative to the killer whales, live in both the Mekong and Irrawaddy Rivers.  Rare Indochinese tigers, Asian elephants, gibbons, and langurs thrive in the remote forests.  Between 1990 and 2011 the amount of forests dropped from 60 per cent to 48 per cent.  So much of the country is relatively unexplored that it is difficult for scientists to even know exactly what species live there.  Many questions arise:  how can Myanmar successfully development economically and simultaneously save their rich wild heritage, how can they merge the old and new, how can they build the proposed new highway between Bankok, Thailand and Dawei, Myanmar without destroying precious natural resources.  Hopefully, they will find a way to prosper and save their natural heritage at the same time.

Evening


SAM_1040

Tulip remnants float in my palm,

the color

of fresh blood,

of sunsets

cerise, burnt orange, gold.

A pale blue dragon

thunders

across a salmon sky.

Slowly indigo night

descends.

Only the night hawks call.

In Silence


Today it warmed up considerably after some very cold weather.  I love the outdoors but  not the cold so really find cold winter weather confining.  While cleaning up a pile of brush, I noticed how quiet it was, no birds singing, no sounds, nothing  except an occasional soughing of the junipers during a wind gust.  Some friends stopped by and immediately commented on the quiet.  It suddenly struck me just how different this is from the rest of the year, especially spring and summer with endless birdsong and raucous insect symphonies.  At dusk when I finally went inside, I sat down and wrote this poem:

The deer meander along the canyon rim,

stop, browse bare bushes

in silence.

The bobcat climbs the canyon wall,

surveys his rugged realm

in silence.

The coyotes run above the rim,

watchful, wary,

in silence.

Now, in January, the birds stop to drink

from the blue birdbath, bobbing

in silence.

At night, the stars and moon

illuminate my sleep

in silence.

Christmas Thoughts


Snow falls in a
driving wind.
If the roads become
too awful, I will
celebrate Christmas
alone.
An awful experience?
No.
Beauty lies outside the windows and
in my heart.
Heat radiates from the fire.
Food fills my refrigerator.
Music bursts from CDs’.
Joy!!
Christmas always brings delight and
reflection.
You do not have to be a Christian to
feel the meaning:
Kindness
Tolerance
Empathy
Giving
Receiving
Accepting
Families
Friends
Love
Joy!!

Rim Rider


I ride the rim on Rosie,

writing stories in my mind.

The neighbor’s husky howls.

Rosie listens, watches,

moves away from the canyon rim.

I write of long lost lovers,

names forgotten,

smiling brown faces,

drifting through my dreams.

I ride the rim on Rosie,

writing stories in my mind.

The bobcat climbs the canyon wall.

Rosie’s ears move,

her body tenses.

I write of childhood memories,

places loved and lost,

of family joys and sorrows,

Mom’s singing while she worked,

Dad’s napping on the blue linoleum  floor.

I ride the rim on Rosie,

writing stories in my mind.

Isabella runs past, bunny hunting, barking.

Rosie wants to run, to race, is held.

I write of fragrant fields of saffron,

endless Thai seas of blue and green,

of lands I’ve loved , the Navaho Nation, the Llano Estacado.

I ride the rim on Rosie,

writing stories in my mind.

Aging


“Rage, Rage, against the dying of the light.”  Dylan Thomas

Custom says, “Age gracefully.”

Are they crazy, dumb!

Who wants to look

old

wrinkled

grey?

They lie!

All of them.

Who wants a broken mind

confused

unfocused

lost?

Shoot me!

Burn my bones.

Scatter them

in the desert sands

to feed

desert willow where

rattlesnakes lie

searching for shade.

Rain


It’s raining!  It’s raining!

It has not rained in more than a month.

I run out the door,

spreading my arms skyward.

I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.

A smile smears joyfully across my face.

I run across the patio,

rain drops pelleting my face, my arms.

I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.

My dog stands, rain running off her.

Usually, she hates the rain.

Lightning flashes, thunder echoes,

the steel roof plays staccato music.

I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.

It’s raining!  It’s raining!

Yesterday, I started an online poetry class with the Story Circle Network.  The teacher is Lorraine Mejia-Green.  This week we are focusing on the poetry of Mary Oliver.  While I was reading her poems and the assignments associated with them, it began to rain.  I became so excited I forgot all about my assignments and enjoyed the rain.  I even posted my excitement on Facebook and called my daughter.  She laughed and said, “You are a dork!”

Writing on the Rim


The canyon edge looms out my bedroom windows,

pale adobe, stark.

Fall to death or serious injury!

I will not fall; I love living on the edge.

Rain brings a one hundred foot deluge,

a roar of water, cascading, screaming.

Someone said my house is pink; it is not pink!

It is the color of the canyon, the worldwide color,

Moroccan, pueblo, Saudi, Mali, Navaho, Timbuktu,

Desert, alive and lovely.

Three bucks watch me through my bedroom windows.

They see me move; they stare.

Isabella stands rigid, watching.

I kneel to her level; follow her eyes.

The bobcat casually climbs the canyon wall, impervious.

He marks the cedar tree, walks a deer path, disappears.

He is a secret, rarely seen.

The huge hoot owl’s voice echoes down the canyon,

drifting through my dreams.

A young road runner calls, scratchy,

running across the patio–on the edge.

In the spring the mocking bird sings all night,

“This is my territory.”

I sing all year, full of joy.

I live in beauty on the rim.

I decided to reblog this because it is the season for giving thanks, and I am eternally grateful for the privilege of living in such a beautiful place.  Yesterday, my family and I took a hike here, saw deer, lovely colorful rocks, bunnies, and native plants the names of which I do not know.  I live in beauty on the rim of wonder!!  I feel blessed!!