Clearing webs from the hovel a blistered hand on the handle of a shovel I’ve been digging too deep, I always do. I see my face on the surface I look a lot like narcissus A dark abyss of an emptiness Standing on the edge of a drowning blue. I look behind my ears for the green Even my sweat smells clean Glare off the white hurts my eyes Gotta get out of bed get a hammer and a nail Learn how to use my hands, not just my head I think myself into jail Now I know a refuge never grows From a chin in a hand in a thoughtful pose Gotta tend the earth if you want a rose.
I had a lot of good intentions Sit around for fifty years and then collect a pension, Started seeing the road to hell and just where it starts. But my life is more than a vision The sweetest part is acting after making a decision I started seeing the whole as a sum of its parts. My life is part of the global life I’d found myself becoming more immobile When I’d think a little girl in the world can’t do anything. A distant nation my community A street person my responsibility If I have a care in the world I have a gift to bring.
It’s no secret that climate change will dramatically alter the landscape. As the planet warms, forests will creep north, and vegetation will grow in places like the once-frozen tundra. When that happens, species that were confined to southerly habitats will move north, too, where they will encounter similar species, and then there will be romance.
Actually, this is already happening. In New England, an up-and-comer hybrid called the Eastern coyote is thriving. According to the New York Times, Eastern coyotes (also called “coywolves”) are only about two-thirds coyote — one-fourth of their lineage comes from wolves, and the rest is dog. The resulting animal is around 40 percent larger than a regular coyote, hunts in packs, and is better adapted to killing New England deer.
I am Brangien [Brangaine] of Weisefort, Ireland, lady-in-waiting to my cousin Isolde, who became promised to King Marc of Cornwall. His nephew Tristan escorted us to England by ship. But Tristan and Isolde fell in love at sea. As ye may know, or will find out, they cite the philter they drank as the cause, over which I was supposed to keep vigil. I would like to share my perspective of how I have created good in the world through my herbs and observations. There is much to tell, including how I have adopted this odd language. In good time. My life is in God’s hands. –Inspired by the modern French translations of the Tristan and Isolde texts