Tuesday, January 31, 2012


This is the last day of winter's virtual river of stones 2012.I imagine I can see each large smooth pebble placed carefully next to each other large smooth pebble, differing only slightly in size and shades of grey. It's only upon close examination that one can also see, etched very faintly on each stone, a few words, a phrase - possibly a poem. The words are, after all, written in stone, just as I'd hoped at the start ...

Monday, January 30, 2012


Day 26


The new moon, the size of a slim cuticle, here in this
part of the hemisphere shows as a sly grin against
Arizona's bruised sunset skies - all mauves, dove-grey and
faint apricot bleeding out ...

Day 27


We did the aerial tram yesterday ... very high and fast but worth it ...
Today, the art-museum - lots of Henry Moore - a surprise;
lots of other sculptures too. Just missed an Andrew Wyeth exhibition - sadly,
but enjoyed touring downtown, walking on the granite stars of celebrities
and humanitarians - mostly one and the same.

Day 28


Tiny children all around; I fear for their ears on this flight -
know the toll altitude takes on same but remarkably these babes travel well.
Large brown eyes regard my husband seriously through the crack
in the seats ahead of us - no smiling, just studying as the thumb goes in.

Day 29


There's nothing to compare to the unconditional welcoming
love of your dog.Farley bounds into the house (after  a week at his "cousins") does his peculiar backing into me for hugs and sideways licks on my face, wiggles all over his body ...goes between us numerous times
before taking up his regular spot by the front window to survey his domain.

Day 30


Holiday over; time to settle into a different life. He' s retired. I'm ...
at loose ends,trying hard not to fall down the rabbit-hole again
but not sure just what it is I want to do.Know it will involve writing
and most likely poetry but am not sure how much or how to dive back in.
Film at eleven.


Day 21

A Mighty Wind

Not at all what I expected, this desert wind
That howled down the valleys between the San Jacinto
And Santa Rosa Mountains, kicking up dust-storms thicker
than any blizzards I've experienced. Welcome to Palm Springs.

Day 22

A Mighty Wind Part II

The small silver rental shook so violently
I was sure we would join the other airborne flotsam
at any moment; we watched, amazed as agent palm-trees
shook and shed their bark like hula-skirts.

Day 23

A Mighty Wind - The Aftermath

Driving through affluent neighbourhood after gated
community,then occasionally hitting a poorer section
of this up-scale part of the country, one thing typified
all of them - the carnage. In addition to mounds of
palm fronds and bark, there were many old-growth
trees totally uprooted and laid out as if plucked out
and laid out as if plucked casually by some careless
giant, then tossed aside ...

Day 24

Growing Windmills

Driving Interstate 10, you're on them before you quite
know what they are and might be forgiven for thinking
all these white sticks leaning every which way (from one
direction that's certainly how they appear at ground level)
are an odd game of Pick-Up-Sticks. It's not until viewed
from the air that the dead-straight rows testify to the
veracity of the sight, "The Windmill Growing Farm" - not
at all difficult to believe someone's devised a way to
harvest all that wind.

Day 25

Desert View

For years he's been telling me how beautiful the desert is,
how he can't wait for me to see it. Now, today - we are
driving from Palm Springs to Mesa and back - ten hours of
nothing but desert and I see what he means - it is a scene
from an old western - the highway and the cars look out of
place. Everything else - the endless sand, the scrub-brush,
the rounded mountains shimmering in the distance - they're all
perfect under a blue sky that's surreal ... no habitation, no houses,
no animals... this is the desert.

Friday, January 20, 2012


He knows we're going away;
our suitcases lie open,
half-filled with summer things.
He lies, inert - liquid brown eyes
the only part of him moving,
follow my every move.
Occasionally he gives
a sigh so human-like, it's uncanny.
If dogs can look particularly sad -
that's the look he's giving me.

Day 20

Thursday, January 19, 2012


lost in the aisles, time becomes immaterial;
new titles are poetry and art combined
a bookstore is a sanctuary, a cathedral
a place of holiness - the scent of ink and paper
real or imagined - fills me up

Day 19


scents of lilac, wintergreen, faint
wisps of ammonia too ... a riot of colours
tumble by the dryer door window
to the clink-clink-clank
of buttons and zippers making music

Day 18

Tuesday, January 17, 2012


Familiar aromas blossom into the
parking lot as we struggle out of the car
and  into our local eatery.  A mixture
of seafood lasagna, liver and onions
and something I can't quite distinguish
mingles with a wind-chill factor
that freezes flesh in less than a minute;
we scoot inside and into a booth in
record time.

Day 17