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Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts

Monday

A Little Rain Must Fall

I was living in Indiana from '85 to '95. During that time period, California was experiencing drought where my daughter lived. My grandson came to visit me when he was eleven and wandered around, wide-eyed, at all the green grass and trees. Half his life he had not seen such verdant lushness!

We had plenty of rain all summer in Indiana. One time we had someplace to go, and just as we got out the door, it started pouring. I said a few rudely chosen words about the rain as we got in the car soaking wet.

"Granny, you shouldn't complain about the rain!" my grandson admonished. "It is sooo BEAUTIFUL to me!!"

Out of the mouths of babes...

Friday

Rain, Tree, Wind

Rain arrives
with gifts for tree.
Clear moist spheres
embrace branches,
cling to buds,
then fall away
with farewell kisses.

Rain loves tree.
Tree loves rain,
drinks moisture
deep into roots,
satiated.
Rain is spent

Rain has two lovers,
tree and wind.
Discovery hastens jealousy.
Anxious branches sway,
whip the ground, and each other.
Musical instruments clang,
a cacophony of chimes gone sour.

Wind, rain,
grow silent,
disappear.

Birds flutter,
land upon small injuries
their feet mending,
stimulating, massaging.
Tree offers hidden water
held in crevices.

Birds dance, chatter,
offer solace,
healing songs.
Birds love tree.
Tree loves birds.

Monday

Soil Begging to be Touched!

The rain is gone, fruit trees are budding and  throwing out their first blooms. Apricot, peach, plums. Yum. Can hardly wait.

My hands itch to immerse themselves in the soil, to tidy up the mess the garden has become over the winter. Though no snow storms ravaged the land, rain is our winter fare.

Fortunately this year was a good rain year. Water high in the reservoir means no rationing. If those who garden heavily want to water their yards without counting out every drop, they will be joyful for the abundance.

I've pulled myself out of that group of gardeners, tending roses and other plants that don't thrive without constant individualized care. The soil here is one of the worst. Being part of the flood plain you'd think it would be rich. But this is the Pajaro River, one of the most endangered rivers in America.

Previous flooding over generations, before my house ever existed has created a hard pack over my yard. It's a dichotomy to me that the city is surrounding by some of the richest soil and biggest agriculture in the world. When you go to the store to buy strawberries, inevitably they will have come to you from Watsonville, or Salinas Valley.

Early land owning farmers of the region had enough sense to stay away from the non-arable land where I live and delegated it to the Chinese hired labor to scratch out their existence.

So I sit here scratching my head how to live with the land peacefully. It's still a process for me. I have left off from cultivating, improving my soil with bone and blood meal, growing my own worms, composting and digging into the compacted clay, hard tack soil in attempts to urge it along into something abundant. It's been a losing battle fighting off the local predators, weeds, bugs and mammalian alike. It's not true companion planting will do it. It's not true lady bugs, miniature wasps and lacewings can completely obliterate the problem unless you have a lot of money to invest. They don't know enough to stay within the confines of your own garden, but like to travel on. I've let things go fallow.

I have a small front yard. and instead of being the shame of the neighborhood it was at one time, the jewel. Do we all know, however, one of those houses where everyone driving by either averts their eyes, or points? My method of scattering seed instead of planting from the nursery has put me in that category for some.  I've made enough adjustments to keep from being reported to the neighborhood association. (Yes, we have garden police here.)

It was questionable whether or not my yard completely full of Flanders red poppies was unsightly or beautiful. Eventually, the decision came down to fire hazard. That was a drought year and the three foot poppy plants had dried out quite quickly. I could see their point as they crackled where ever I walked. I pulled them all up and through them in one of the many compost bins in my back yard.

But, poppies have plans of their own.

Many seeded early leaving behind another crop the following year.

Rather than deal with another hassle, I judiciously pulled them up as soon as they bloomed.


We shall see if any of them dare to raise their lovely red heads this year!

Friday

RAINBUGS, a Poem


Raindrops running down the windowpane

hurrying through pathways

to the thirsty earth.
Green lushness awaiting to grow.
Little grubs
and crawly things
swim to save their insignificant lives.
Who is to say the angels don’t guard them?
When the raindrops stop,
it’s time to breathe and relax again,
and to rebuild burroughs
washed away.


Poem and photos by Elizabeth Munroz

Monday

Poem - Fog


fog haunts mountain

drivers peer anxious

red lights glow

in snake formation

some too close

wheels sing with pavement

their own secret wish

rain storm any minute

home

home

just get home


Elizabeth Munroz
January 2010

Wednesday

Quiet Steady Rain


Branches dance to orchestration
chimes caressed by the wind
water dripping between spaces
so many pebbles pounding the roof
gutters rush to find a way to meet with wet soil

Stretching antenna, snails head for high ground
water dive bombing around them

Trailing ants gone
safely stowed in the attic,
or deeply burrowed beneath soil.
Can they manage the onslaught
of rivulets flooding
their collapsed corridors?

Opened window listening
Sonata plays full volume.

Water splayed upon window sill
Cats shake their paws
watch with piercing eyes
to see where each drop
ends it's journey

No resounding thunder, no lightning strikes
just the windows mumbling to the whispering wind
the conversation during intermission lulls me to sleep.



Elizabeth Munroz
January 2010