Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Sunday, December 15, 2013
A tree stands on the edge of a gentle park-like parcel
of land, across the street a swamp full of brush, water
and trees (one of those special places wildlife loves)
points outward toward Union Bay.
When we arrive, I stand on a sidewalk catching my
first glimpse of a well-established eagle nest in a tall tree.
Within minutes a bald eagle flies in from the waterfront
and lands nearby, immediately opening its wings to dry.
It moves to another tree as if to find a little more sunlight
behind the gray overcast sky. Soon it flies to the nest tree
perching near the very top, again opening its wings,
as if in prayer.
About half of the nest has recently fallen part way down the tree.
A local resident said there have been no big wind storms lately.
This time of year as eagles return to their nests, they will begin
bringing courtship gifts of large and small sticks and together rebuild
and strengthen the nest to be ready for egg-laying the coming year.
This parcel of beautiful land is in the review stages for a full
subdivision into 82 parcels, platting of new streets, and adding
126,500 cubic yards for grading. This is the sign posted at the
entrance where there is a new gate and fencing.
Seattle Department of Planning and Development is conducting
an environmental review.The comment period ended 12/15/13
but may be extended to 12/29/13.This is considered an
environmentally critical area. You can contact Seattle
Dept of Planning and Development at (206) 684-8467
or email PRC@Seattle.gov.
As we looked over the sweep of grassy fields, small ponds and
trees, there was an abundance of smaller birds in trees and bushes.
The bald eagle flew from the nest tree out over the swamp toward
Union Bay. More stories to come!
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Last night the sky opened its hands
in the dark and a monsoon poured over the cottage.
From gutters rivers flowed,
spitting and moaning.
We rose up out of our beds to watch
the same spectacular moment
God held Mojo in the dark of another room
of too much light.
Holds her still though the parrot
in its cage imagines a shackle
and sings for what it understands
The larger the heart, the greater its light shines.
In her room that is too white for winter
bald eagles keep gathering.
The hurried nurse shoos with her arms back and forth
but they won't listen.
You would think it's a salmon run
but the pinks aren't due till December.
Although none of this
makes sense to us now,
eagles perch to tell us something:
like worry is a pastime not suited for royalty,
and God blesses the open-mouthed who sing,
or take a moment to imagine the Wilson,
its bald and good natured company.
in her little boat of unfurling sails,
we pray the wind will not find--
smiled at that.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
kind of breathless
by the end.
wide wise maples
dreaming of new things.
in space between mass,
cracks, and twigs, and harder things,
leaving moist paths.
Think of sow bugs in armor,
spiders on the roof
and all that’s under,
finally losing its borders,
In the end the air coming from us
is the only thing going up
before seeds open.
How weary life if all things
lived on without emotion,
bored with perfection,
never an old dog,
and her gray ghosts
thinning into invisible
when early sunflower
without fire inside your eyes?
every bright occurrence.
Life is brief, a fish with rainbows and thunder.
A song, made up as you go along,
like we sing to babies.
coming back to you?
when mind is wide
and fingers when everything was new.
into many pockets;
you the little clay.
c2013 T.L. Stokes (all rights reserved)
Monday, April 29, 2013
Last night in the black sea
on a rowboat slowly heading
for the Dreamtime
I dreamed my father and I
until we reached the end of a line
and sitting on a couch
to our left
sat my mother.
I floated like you do in the land of dreams
opening my arms
with everything that is me
still stood quietly
by my side.
What did the heart say in the moment
facing his wife the beloved departed?
you need not ask nor wonder
for upon waking
answers are never words.
For my father, brother and sisters,
she looked good.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
In the glorious day of the eagle
while the watchers danced and prayed
I asked the teacher:
Do you remember
when we talked about grief,
Norfolk happened the next day
and then we talked about balance
and the white egg cracked so its voice
could come to us,
and then we talked about Hope,
and honesty and patience,
and you taught us another thing
about the position of life
and possibility of death,
and you held onto us,
teaching in silence and words
typed into the white spaciousness
of the universe.
And you waited with us
as we played Native chants
Then in the silence of the great mystery
a little life was spilled
into our eyes.
Alexandra Morton--new abundant vision
of all people--hatchling,
and now AJL you honor us
and vigilant more than most,
you count the small things
noting that all miracles
can be held and charted and
Above all, that these finer things
from a spirit who must love us
more than we will ever understand,
to be shared. Teacher
in the treetops. Pointing a finger
into the darkness
for the watchers
in the woods.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Nothing here has happened all day, then you walk
into the sticks and frozen grass of our field in the stillness of winter.
You move closer and I look to see just what it is you are looking at.
Ah, the cat’s eyes. White bowl of her face, the almost grin.
As if in her Arctic sweater dwells another universe.
You love her as you never have loved before;
she stays to have you take her photograph,
pretends it is nothing to her,
and you will never
know her name.