November 30, 2024

The Past Is Prologue

We don't have to imagine what will happen if Trump detains and/or deports huge numbers of illegal immigrants as he has repeatedly said he plans to do.

Twelve years ago, on the heels of some state-wide restrictions on migrant labor, reported Julie Strupp wrote a great piece in MIC:

"We need to face the facts: our agricultural industry is built on illegal labor, and it needs to be reformed."

Read the full article here (it's not long)!


(HT: Flynn Talwar)

November 28, 2024

a good soaking rain —
on the long row home our boats
fill up with water



November 27, 2024

Thanksgiving prep —
scrubbing root vegetables 'til
the water runs clear



November 26, 2024

colors that remain
call out more insistently —
tiny purple berries




November 25, 2024

now the bees give up
on finding any pollen —
this will have to do



November 24, 2024

withered reeds —
the marsh draws in on itself
its mud crazed with cracks



November 23, 2024

ruby crowned kinglet —
so light that the branches
don't even bend



Weekend Reading from Kelly Hayes

"Defiance must be woven into the fabric of our daily lives, rather than simply proclaimed at marches or on social media."


Collective Survival, Adaption, and Direct Action

(from Kelly Hayes' Organizing My Thoughts)

November 22, 2024

a long soaking rain —
the places that were once soft
begin their comeback



November 21, 2024

rain at long last —
strangers finding common ground
in "we needed this"


November 20, 2024

all this fiddling with
my internal thermostat —
sweaters on the floor



November 19, 2024

my best friend's birthday —
we longingly look for 
a chance to meet up



November 18, 2024

watching for bats
as the sun hurries down
to check on Europe



Protect the Press

Call Senators re: the PRESS Act

(HT Celeste Pewter, Greg Pak, Senator Wyden)

We need the press. We need them to be investigators, not stenographers. And we need to protect them so that they can keep digging.

(Read more on the PRESS Act here.)

Do you have the phone numbers of your Senators in your contacts yet?

Here's a handy link that can tell you who your elected officials are at the local, state, and federal level: https://myreps.datamade.us


Unrelated:






Ruby Freeman and Shaye Moss, the two Georgia poll workers defamed by Rudolph W. Giuliani after the 2020 election, received his watch collection, a ring and his vintage Mercedes-Benz last Friday.


November 17, 2024

before the song starts
the sound of an indrawn breath —
I join the Earth's choir



November 16, 2024

unprecedented —
even just hearing the word
adds to my exhaustion



Weekend Reading from Andrea Pitzer

"Authoritarians aim to destroy the social fabric and to isolate individuals. Anything you do to counter that is good work. We may or may not see heroes in our time, but we can be sure that the most vital work will done on a smaller scale day in and day out by regular people."

Read Andrea Pitzer's excellent full piece, Swept Into The Flood, here:

https://degenerateart.beehiiv.com/p/swept-into-the-flood


November 15, 2024

cool evening air
with a full moon presiding —
no crickets left to sing



November 14, 2024

Yet


when the glass has slipped
from your hand but it still
hasn't hit the ground



Don't Roll Over

Sherrilyn Ifill (former President. & Director-Counsel, NAACP Legal Defense & Educational Fund) says, 

"Don’t throw in the towel. Rest, then call your Senator - Dem & Repub. Tell them you expect them to do their constitutional duty and have real confirmation review & hearings for Gaetz, Hegseth, Gabbard & all cabinet nominees. Don’t let your Senators give their power to Trump w/o a fight." 

Here's a clip: https://bsky.app/profile/sifill.bsky.social/post/3laxiugfhik2j

The Capital Switchboard's number is 202-224-3121. To look up your representatives' contact information, try this handy little tool: https://myreps.datamade.us

Put your Senators' and Representative's DC office numbers in your phone. Then add them to your favorites. Consider moving from a default position of never calling them to a default position of calling them all the time.


Unrelated mic drop:



November 13, 2024

hoarfrost on windows —
for the first time this season
I warm up my drink



Protect Your Peace - So You Can Engage

Dear friends and loved ones,

How are you holding up? It's a lot, right? A highlight of yesterday for me was the somewhat surprising and thoroughly satisfying defeat of H.R. 9495 in the US House of Representatives. This was a bill which could have allowed Trump's Treasury Dept to unilaterally revoke tax-exempt status from non-profits it deems as "supporting terrorism." The bill needed a two-thirds affirmative vote to pass, and it didn't get it, perhaps in part because a slew of folks (myself included) called their elected representatives to weigh in. Trump can and does ignore public opinion, but at some level he'll be a lame duck for his entire second term, whereas our elected representatives still need to be thinking about how they'll stay in power, so...

Another highlight for me yesterday was this excerpt from an interview with award-winning Chicago-based investigative journalist Jamie Kalven:

"With this election, we’ve joined the rest of the world. Think of all the other nations that live under moronic, venal leadership. There are models for honorable political lives in those circumstances, but those models are quite different from our dominant notions of citizenship in which we follow politics as a spectator sport and occasionally vote. All over the world there are people in repressive settings who find ways to live as free human beings, act in solidarity with their neighbors, and fashion strategies to resist state power. We’re going to need to get good at practicing that kind of politics.


One of the dangers is that people will instead become demoralized and retreat into denial, that they will seek refuge amid the pleasures and fulfillments of private life. That would give carte blanche to power. There was a term used in central Europe to describe those who opted to retreat into private life under totalitarianism. They were called “internal emigres.” That is certainly tempting at a time like this: to live one’s life in the wholly private realm, enjoying the company of friends, good food and drink, the pleasures of literature and music, and so on. Privileged sectors of our society are already heavily skewed that way. It’s a real danger at a time like this. If we withdraw from public engagement now, we aid and abet that which we deplore."


I hope you will stay engaged, or prepare to be engaged.

Thanks for listening.

in peace,
Shelley

November 12, 2024

my best friend shows me
how to weave gingko leaves
into my hair


November 11, 2024

mourning doves
trying to remember
how to celebrate



November 10, 2024

rain at last —
I let myself get lost
in the sound of it


November 09, 2024

before the berries,
the sharply pointed leaves —
holly trees in fall



November 08, 2024

I watch the fox
until only its ears show
two points in the grass


November 07, 2024

electrical fence —
no one seems to be reading
my warning sign



November 06, 2024

foreboding


Batsto Lake

on an oddly warm fall day —

not a bird in sight


November 05, 2024

going to sleep
knowing that it will be dread
that awakens me



November 04, 2024

wired and tired —
we all compare notes on
how we'll get through it



November 03, 2024

we carry bath water
out to our ironwood tree —
seven weeks of drought



November 02, 2024

rain for a minute —
around us the sound of trees
getting their hopes up



November 01, 2024

deeper every day —
our Jack-o-Lantern sinks
back into the earth



October 31, 2024

four of King Henry's
six wives appear at the door —
Hallowe'en treats



October 30, 2024

my old hair color 
returned to me 
in a spray can



October 29, 2024

we see what we look for —
my mind fills in a bird where
there's only a leaf



October 28, 2024

cozy blanket —
I wake up to the sound 
of the heat coming on



October 27, 2024

the stag and I enter
a staring competition —
I need some antlers



October 26, 2024

when we gave up
and sat on a fallen log
the birds came to us



October 25, 2024

seven weeks of drought —
the stony bed of the creek
comes up for air



October 24, 2024

letting go at last —
the orchid I've been tending
on its own timeline



October 23, 2024

warm weather surprise —
the tickle on my hand
becomes a ladybug



October 22, 2024

we leave the leaves
in the yard where they belong —
blankets for the roots



October 21, 2024

after the game —
sore throats from yelling
as if they could hear



October 20, 2024

October 19, 2024

late night fight —
territorial foxes
yelling back and forth



October 18, 2024

another clear night —
a great blue heron flies
low over the lake



October 17, 2024

three years later
we can still see the scars
left by the cicadas



October 16, 2024

raccoons in the park
foraging for fallen pears —
near-full hunter moon



October 15, 2024

four new tires —
I take the corners faster
just to feel the grip



October 14, 2024

half the leaves down now —
we put our coats on hooks
where we can grab them


October 13, 2024

neighborhood potluck —
the big kids keep the small kids
out of trouble mostly



October 12, 2024

through the long morning
I stopped and sang to children
pocketing their smiles



October 11, 2024

old leather jacket —
National Coming Out Day
but everyone already knows



October 10, 2024

kids in strollers
holding leaves in their fists —
flags of autumn



October 09, 2024

Sarasota plan —
my cousin puts a crowbar
in the attic



October 08, 2024

first quarter moon —
a hurricane's shadow
crosses my heart



October 07, 2024

one of my students
came down with a high fever —
glad I'm still masking



October 06, 2024

up late on Sunday
even when we know better —
yawning in the forecast



October 05, 2024

small brown sidewalk leaf —
when is the last time
I saw a toad?



October 04, 2024

lying still enough
that the vultures slow down
for a second look



October 03, 2024

in between stars
I think I hear an old song —
protect each other



October 02, 2024

listening for crickets
before I close the curtains
for the night



October 01, 2024

pumpkin season —
the moose of Alaska
enjoy their new snacks


September 30, 2024

I change my route home
so it crosses the fox's —
knowing where to look



September 29, 2024

our fifth kind of aster —
tiny calico blossoms
crowd-source their sunshine



September 28, 2024

water in places
that have never seen water —
no way out, no plans



September 27, 2024

humid morning air —
geese under the bridge startle
as I run over



September 26, 2024

retirement savings —
finally getting smaller
after all those years




September 25, 2024

I've lost the cricket
that snuck in with the paper —
I wish it would sing



September 24, 2024

cool mornings at last —
every fallen branch looking
like a walking stick



September 23, 2024

skunk scented air —
the farm stand takes down its signs
one crop at a time



September 22, 2024

on the edge of drought —
the doe tucks her fawns in
with stories of rain



September 21, 2024

waning full moon
as we head towards autumn —
let me watch you sleep



September 20, 2024

September 19, 2024

scuffing through leaves —
I kick myself all the way back
to childhood



September 18, 2024

nearing confluence,
announcing their intention —
geese on the move



September 17, 2024

I counted six bees
on the goldenrod today —
or maybe three, twice



September 16, 2024

resisting autumn —
I leave my socks
in their drawer



September 15, 2024

imagining the job:
holding doors open
as our children choose



September 14, 2024

the smaller the sweeter
purple fingers telling tales —
wild blueberries



September 13, 2024

kitchen cactus —
to truly show it love
we leave it alone



September 12, 2024

freshly squeezed lemon —
I find the nicks in my skin
by the stinging



September 11, 2024

we stayed still so long
the goldfinches forgot us
coming close after all



September 10, 2024

bats all up under
the patio umbrella 
'bout to make their move


September 09, 2024

turning over stones
nestled in the creek bed —
brief, tiny whirlpools



September 08, 2024

egrets and great blues
each making claims on their own
section of shoreline



September 07, 2024

young praying mantis —
we check each other out
as the world slows down



September 06, 2024

day by day
more sunlight captured
by the goldenrod



September 05, 2024

late summer sunshine —
lavender pods just out here
asking to be crushed



September 04, 2024

I trace your route
and trust it will bring you
back home to me



September 03, 2024

Birth Story


he asks one more time

about the pain; I tell him

that wasn't the point


September 02, 2024

early fall due date —
I spend the summer swimming,
practicing breathing



September 01, 2024

summer's end —
it seems that no one has told
our zinnias



August 31, 2024

untranslatable —

the spirit of happy welcome

that comes with osiyo



August 30, 2024

sweet corn season —
happy for the trouble
of peeling back silk



August 29, 2024

seeking safety —
sparrows checking overhead
in between sips



August 28, 2024

oaks full of acorns 
just starting to think
about letting go



August 27, 2024

sitting still
while the river rushes on
as if I have a say



August 26, 2024

the baby yawns —
we let ourselves remember
how tired we are, too



August 25, 2024

local flooding —
a bumblebee pulls itself
to the puddle's edge



August 24, 2024

crickets calls
in between folk songs —
late summer concert



crickets calls
in between folk songs —
late summer concert



August 23, 2024

skinned knee

taking me all the way back

to third grade

 

August 22, 2024

the wind kicks up
a memory of my father
trimming our boat's sails



August 21, 2024

knowing as I fell
that I could roll into it
that it could have been worse



August 20, 2024

full moon here with me
somehow the same moon that pulls
far away you



August 19, 2024

carried to shore
by a wave I never saw —
sand still in my scalp



August 18, 2024

Disneyland all day —
permission to be a kid
shining from every face



August 17, 2024

Brazilian steakhouse —
so much meat we didn't
even have dessert


August 16, 2024

willets gliding in
wings flashing white in descent —
the last time today



August 15, 2024

we warn the fox
to stay off the road
right before it crosses



August 14, 2024

fledglings tuckered out
from a long day of learning
how their songs go



August 13, 2024

we will not dry these,
make tea from them, or a poultice —
they're just for today



August 12, 2024

filling our small home
with the smell of baking bread —
a day well begun



August 11, 2024

find yourself 
a three year-old who will run
right into your arms


(for E.E.)

August 10, 2024

old trees in decline  —
each day between the branches
we see more sky




August 09, 2024

another storm
another limb —
the old tree lets go



August 08, 2024

pulling our flag
back down off the roof —
hurricane season



August 07, 2024

walking home at night —
I wait under the linden
until my eyes adjust



August 06, 2024

we sleep in again
and let the grass grow long —
holding onto summer



August 05, 2024

the fox slips away —
almost immediately 
we doubt our own eyes



August 04, 2024

edges curling in —
evidence of the heat wave
in these yellow leaves



August 03, 2024

closing my eyes
to better hear hooves drumming
on the polo grounds



August 02, 2024

dolphins and surfers
breaking free of the ocean
just to dive back in


August 01, 2024

hot days stretched out
so far they can't hold their shape —
we sit stuck to the couch



July 31, 2024

four drops of rain
thrown sideways from a cloud
that kept it moving



July 30, 2024

hot summer nights —
we drive into the mountains
chasing cooler air



July 29, 2024

after-image —
most days it's the fox I see
pausing to look back



July 28, 2024

corn on the cob —
the stand at the field's edge
piled high with treasure



July 27, 2024

we move the small hill
made from last year's fallen tree
one shovel at a time



July 26, 2024

cloudy day swim —
a five year-old asks her mom
where's the sunny spot?



July 25, 2024

taking out the trash
after choosing a new fighter —
more spring in my step



July 24, 2024

when did cicadas
become the loudest voice?
(late night summer choir)



July 23, 2024

waking up tired —
come sit next to me and breathe
be my calm center



July 22, 2024

mosquito morning —

a fast-flying hummingbird

adds to the buzz


 

July 21, 2024

full moon with crickets —
our half-eaten garden flowers
plan to try again



July 20, 2024

sage in summer —
I run my fingers through it
to bring the scent with me



July 19, 2024

the sound of the wind
translated into scratches —
branch tips at the screen



July 18, 2024

squirrels with white tails —
reactions separating
visitors from locals



July 17, 2024

stand over the sink,
peach juice dripping down your arm —
let summer run out


July 16, 2024

trying to get close
enough to toast marshmallows —
bonfire s'mores



July 15, 2024

tornado warning —
the Midwesterners show us
how not to worry



July 14, 2024

waxing half moon —
giving my little sister
the bigger piece



July 13, 2024

talking to myself —
I fill in the blank spaces
of our missed call



July 12, 2024

traveling west —
the sun keeps us company
well past our evening meal



July 11, 2024

across the crowd
we nod in recognition —
the only two masking



July 10, 2024

twin fawns 
becoming triplets
at the edge of sight



July 09, 2024

waxing crescent moon
presiding over one more
hot cloudless night



July 08, 2024

slowing down
before and after the fox
runs back into the night



July 07, 2024

real fireflies —
reminding us that borders
are imaginary


July 06, 2024

startled into flight
trailing their wavering song —
brilliant goldfinches



July 05, 2024

early summer —
fledglings on low branches
still hoping to be fed



July 04, 2024

lured by the sound
of water in the bird bath —
finches taking turns



July 03, 2024

garden love —
when you know to bring water
before it's asked for



July 02, 2024

long hill coming up —
I like the feeling of my legs
getting ready



July 01, 2024

telling the saplings
they need to come up farther
away from the house


June 30, 2024

Olympic trials —
watching the athletes' faces
as the records fall



June 29, 2024

hot humid days
inviting us to make
the easy mistakes



June 28, 2024

backyard birthday —
the sun visits each of us
in turn



June 27, 2024

sing a quiet song
try to water tomatoes
back to life



June 26, 2024

fireflies unaware
that they're also attracting
humans



June 25, 2024

late night watering —
we try to give our garden
reason to hope



June 24, 2024

indigo bunting —
singing away as I try
to show you where to look



June 23, 2024

low tide by the pier
water running off the sand
out beyond forever



June 22, 2024

dangerous heat wave —
my mother promises to shop
while the sun is low



June 21, 2024

too much moonlight
for a good look at the stars —
still, we know they're there



June 20, 2024

Summer Solstice —
we reapply our sunscreen
and head back outside



June 19, 2024

removing "stranger"
as a possibility —
dykes waving back



June 18, 2024

adjusting to walking
wherever and however —
Provincetown in June



June 17, 2024

waxing gibbous moon —
fledgling tree swallows 
opening wide



June 16, 2024

memories and stars
(there used to be more fireflies)
brighter at the edges



June 15, 2024

battles everywhere —
we encircle the garden
with wire



June 14, 2024

Flag Day —
we count on our rainbow
to repel zealots



June 12, 2024

my hand lingers
under the faucet waiting
for winter's cold water



June 11, 2024

mid-June —
strawberries giving way
to fireflies



June 10, 2024

young mockingbird
developing its repertoire —
robin, blue jay, hawk



June 09, 2024

eyes on the horizon —
everyone's mom slipping snacks
into the duffles