Bless the Whistle Pigs

It may stem from a deeply anti-social vein

in me, this wish to see

Instead of blacktop and three

color traffic lights and a tangle

of telephone wires, to see

wide expanses of native grasses, beetles, and the

harmonious networks of earthworms

Bless the burrowing creatures

for they labor and rest in their own time

Instead of 1.5 acre outparcels with potential

restaurant or retail site, to see

the wide arms of an ancient oak

almost as wide as it is tall

above which circles a patient hawk

Bless the creatures of the air

for their keen eyes and for balance they restore

to the fields

Instead of the repetitive molds

of houses and their attendant towers

clustered against the edge

of a forest, to see

rivers aged into meandering curves

and the silent horizons of rocky ridgelines

shining in fading light

Bless the fish hidden in dark waters

for they have not witnessed a world

stripped of mystery

firedream

for Janisse Ray

Some people thirst for big weather--

Fat, ballooning raindrops,

roiling clouds and wind

that rips through trees

I like that too, but

to be a hovering witness to the thunder

and crack at the tip of the top

of a Longleaf pine seared by lightning bolt

and follow the seam of fire racing

down massive trunk to the tinder

of bluestem grasses at the base

of a proud grandmother pine--

(where, upon igniting in a dance of flames

passion of dry spark, nest of inferno,

there is only unquenchable heat)

this would bring me a radiant type of joy

This violent healing unleashed

over endless miles of generously spaced trees

doted on from an understory of wiregrass,

pitcher plants and the peculiar silence

of Saw Palmetto

to bring the next generation of Longleaf--

extending roots deep in the sandy soil

The once familiar Bachman's sparrow,

the red-cockaded woodpecker,

the Eastern indigo snake, and the gopher tortoise

so at home here, even with fire

Or even cougar, elk, and woodland bison--

now, names in a book, struggling to get off the page

Where, in this now shrunken, patchwork forest

can this fiery dance let loose in joy and

longing for itself

sweeping the distance with happy flames

ancient and able, so perfectly adapted

to the destruction that allows for life

in a howling rage

and then, slowly, carefully, in the quiet that follows

Meanderthals

With Tom ("the Beatnik") Ferguson and Jack ("the Frost") Drost, Beth ("Totally") Beasley scrambled up to a low ridge on Weed Patch Mountain, in search of the elusive White Irisette, which was giggling at us from the leaf litter as we slid and slipped, and I ultimately fell in the creek on the way back to the car. A fitting end to a *funny* hike... chewing on anise goldenrod and mountain mint, trying to avoid using rotting trees for support, and admiring Lake Lure from a height.

All going well, this area (about 1600 acres) will be soon be preserved--through the efforts of the Carolina Mountain Land Conservancy.

Peppercorn lichen

Rivers must flow...

Close of the Mesozoic

The earth bled under an electric sky

bright like nectarines ripe with life

a soup steeped with spores, saprophytes

and the slow pulse of outsized beasts

encumbered by their own heavy hearts

lumber along within jungle tangle

in fits and starts

toward an unexpected demise

in the clean horizon of Jupiter's eye

this wayward meteorite

sacked the light

and upended in a fine spray of loose dust

creatures clambering for air until

in the darkened chill

heavy eyes stare in silence

and footprints fossilize

while the inheritance of the meek

is quietly established

Transition Towns

I can't stop thinking about what I've heard about the equivalency of the energy in one tank of gas compared to simple, straightforward human labor--of the fetch wood/carry water kind. One tank equals 4 years of one human laboring. Four years.

When I told Cian this the other day, he sighed relief at the fact we had fossil fuels. We now live at a standard higher than any other society has before on earth because of oil. Just so we haven't painted ourselves into a corner.

I got the one tank/four years information from a video on 'transition villages'--an intriguing idea regarding peak oil issues that is starting to gain momentum in England, and also here in North Carolina.

See a video on transition towns here. I love that they bring humor into it--Americans can be kinda sanctimonious when it comes to environmental/cultural issues. Simple solutions are best, no?