dragging it behind

to avoid saying goodbye —

our boy and his stick

we make a path

only to have geese decide

it was meant for them

“It’s freezing!”

my four year-old pool friend,

giggling as I dive

our grieving boy

still stumbling over

new levels of “gone”

we give up

trying to chase

the bats out

I took her name

out of my phone today —

sun burning the grass

back from camping

I see even the ants

that are not there

two grey hills

waiting to greet the rain

with every color

listening in wonder —

a tiny steel drum band?

oh! (rain hitting the flue)

finding a firefly

at the bottom of the bag,

its glow gone out

woodpecker

taking a break from drilling

to look fierce

Lessons from Camp 2014

And... we're back! And here is a photo-log of some of this year's lessons from camp:

Get help with the heavy lifting.

Honor the tradition of rescue.

Watch out for sharks.

What the heck, play with your food a little.

Invite a friend over for a game of bocce.

Everything tastes better when it's been cooked outside.

Do without digital... unless it's the World Cup!

Lean into the wind.

Wave at the whales... they might wave back!

(Thanks so much the K. family for the outstanding "loaner" boy!

Thanks, too, to faithful day-maker Wendy Cook, Tami K,

Auntie Nish and Junie of the long hand-written letter (!), the Issacs-Mellmans, who sent us mail from their vacation all the way out in BC, and Tante Dorit 

(who gets a gold star for sending us mail TWICE),

as well as to Hawai'i Johnny, the Channas, 

the Pattons, the Rawleys, the Garcias,

Emily, Lorraine, Mike, Ray, Deborah,

and everyone else who conspired to make

our time at camp completely fabulous this year.

If you want to jump into the wayback machine

you can do so by checking out the posts 

from 2013, 2012, 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008, 2007, and 2006.)

fledgling robin

hopping after its mother —

my boy at thirteen

cake batter and icing —

swirling memories

of the birthday girl

front yard maple —

we try to remember

when it was small

crushed roadside turtle —
in a prayer for unseeing,

I look to the sky

a tart blueberry

and the small hesitation

that follows

first light —

birds begin threading

their songs through the rain

under the counter

but we know to ask for it —

beach plum jelly

midsummer moon —

a family of skunks

line up for a stroll

teach me again

that trick of knowing

when the tide has turned

seeing us,

and then looking through us —

fox kit in the dunes

(Image by Kevin Cole, via Flickr)

after the storm

a steady parade of cars

stuffed full of wet tents

the moonlight shows me

the path I’m following

ends in the stars

even in a dream

endlessly patient and kind —

the Dalai Lama

inevitable —

the loss of castles

built at low tide

summer tradition —

waiting for the wind to bring me

the sound of waves

inspired by seals

new tricks in the pool

after the aquarium

small grey spider

folded back in on itself

in death

Make Our Day

For the next two weeks, we will never be further than five miles from the ocean.

In this regard, we are completely predictable... we are heading north just as the heat in the Delaware River Valley starts to really crank up. This is our traditional unplugged vacation, which means that you can REALLY make our day by sending us a note at camp. (This is also the best way to make sure you rocket to the top of my list of folks to send a card of my own to.)

Any time between now and July 17th, you can send a little note to:

Riendeau-Krause campers, site 35-C
c/o North of Highland Campground
52 Head of the Meadow Road
P.O. Box 297
North Truro, MA 02652-0297

If you'd prefer, you can call the camp office and ask the very nice folks there to leave us a note on the camp message board, which is also a big thrill. (Don't be shy; people do this all the time, as cellphone reception this far from civilization isn't reliable.) That number is 508/ 487-1191, and office hours are pretty much all day with the exception of meal breaks from noon-1pm and again from 6-7pm.

Even if you don't have a chance to send a message our way, we know we can count on you to send warm and sunny thoughts... right? And a special thanks to our friend Jorge who is working some magic on our little home while we're gone.

(Meanwhile, I'll still be writing at least one haiku each day,

but I won't be able to post them while we're gone.

Watch this space for "haiku-palooza" 

once we return!)

short trip —

I make my way back home

through my own dust

a long soaking rain —

you would have felt gratitude,

so I try to, too

(Once again, in memory of my friend A.Y.)

the front yard bunny

looks back at me and stops —

this heat!