Corrales Bosque - Halloween
Trail to the Rio Grande - through red willow

Halloween - Cottonwoods and tamarisk

UlerFest
Laury Alexander and Tony Byers threw a party November 4 - the annual homage to Uler - by burning a huge bonfire of old skis - supposedly to auger an excellent ski season.
But it seems like 'ol Uler got pretty angry this year, and did not bring snow to the high country.



Bonnie Gonzales at the Corrales Grower's Market

Bonnie's beautiful flowers are my favorite part. On this day, Corrales celebrated
Farmland Preservation efforts and it was a wonderful affirmation of the power of
the land. Thanks to all who helped.

CONTINUUM: A LOVE POEM

going for grapes with
ladder and pail in
the first slashing rain
of September rain
steeping the dust
in a joyous squelch the sky
standing up like steam
from a kettle of grapes
at the boil wild fox grapes
wickedly high tangled in must
of cobweb and bug spit
going for grapes year
after year we two with
ladder and pail stained
with the rain of grapes
our private language

Copyright © 1980 by Maxine Kumin.

The Apparition

True to his word, our vet

comes in late afternoon

and kneels in a slant of sun.

A pat, a needle stick

stills the failing heart.

We lower the ancient form

to the hemlock-shrouded grave

and before the hole is brimmed

set a layer of chicken wire

to guard against predators

so that the earth we broke

reforms, a mild mound.

The rock we place on top,

common glacial granite,

is mica-flecked and flat.

That night the old dog works

his way back up and out,

gasping, salted with dirt,

and barks his familiar bark

at the scribble-scratched back door.

I pull on shirt and pants,

a Pavlovian response,

and stumble half awake

downstairs to turn the knob

where something, some mortal stub

I swear I recognize,

some flap of ear or fur,

swims out of nothingness

and brushes past me

into its rightful house.

--Maxine Kumin

(Atlantic Monthly, December 2003)

I found this poem, and it reminded me that it was
this time of year - 2002 - when Marcus came, bringing the pink needle --
late Autumn afternoon light slanting in across the flagstone
to where she lay, her breath laboring, beautiful Sandy letting go, we say goodbye, those brown eyes trusting us.

For The Time Being: my poem from those days, Fall 2002

Andrew Joseph ~ b. 1946 - d. 11/1/2005 All Saint's Day
We've lost (another) Andrew - Cousin Andy Joseph has left us.
He was much loved, by many. So sorry for the suffering. So sorry, Terry.
Miss you, Andy. (click on ABOUT ANDY on the left sidebar)


In The Arc Of Your Mallet
Don't go anywhere without me.
Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
or on the ground, in this world or that world,
without my being in its happening.
Vision, see nothing I don't see.
Language, say nothing.
The way the night knows itself with the moon, be that with me.
Be the rose nearest to the thorn that I am. I
want to feel myself in you when you taste food,
in the arc of your mallet when you work,
when you visit friends, when you go up on the roof by yourself at night.
There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street without you.
I don't know where I'm going.
You're the road, and the knower of roads, more than maps, more than love.

The Essential Rumi
Coleman Barks




Love has gone a-rocketing.
That is not the worst;
I could do without the thing,
And not be the first.
Joy has gone the way it came.
That is nothing new;
I could get along the same,
-- Many people do.
Dig for me the narrow bed,
Now I am bereft.
All my pretty hates are dead,
And what have I left?

"Wail" -- 1925 By Dorothy Parker