Monthly Archives: September 2014

TRACTOR

DSCF4572Staunch workhorse
Solid, dependable
Never glamorous or racy
Trundling through seasons
Year after year.DSCF7291

Drawing the plough
Harrowing the furrow
Dragging the hay rake
Combustion engine
Pumping away.DSCF7403

Red Farmall
Green John Deere
Loyalties, generations deep
Billowing exhaust
Into thin morning air.DSCF7274

Slow-moving beast
Taking on earthy hues
Sinking into the acreage
Overcome by time
Finally idled.IMG_9106

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SMALL BLACK CAT

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New arrival
On the doorstep
Small black cat.

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Wheezing, runny eyes
Ear mites and worms
Small black cat

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Vet looks gloomy
Hope not proffered
Small black cat

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Hand-fed, caressed
Cradled in laps
Small black cat

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Feisty young ‘un
Up and at it
Small black cat

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Pouncing lessons
Hearts won, much fun
Small black cat.

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ODE TO ONIONS

DSCF6345No smell announces the preparation of a meal better than the rich, sweet aroma of sautéing onions. It’s a humble staple of my pantry that I couldn’t do without. Luckily, I live in an area famous for its onions. I keep a special pair of blue swim goggles in my kitchen drawer for chopping the extremely pungent variety that grow in our region of New York State. Known as the Black Dirt, the fertile soil—a result of an ancient glacial lake—is rich in organic matter and sulfur. DSCF5037The latter gives our local onions their intense flavor and earns them a spot in farmer’s markets and supermarkets all over the Northeast.

IMG_8688IMG_8684Starting in April armies of bright green shoots march across the black dirt. By July, they’re standing tall. And in August the stalks wilt, their purpose served.DSCF6369 In September the heady scent of onions pervades the air and the onion crates are stacked high in the fields, waiting to be stored or transported to market.DSCF6366DSCF6357 DSCF6333

Ode To The Onion by Pablo Neruda
Onion,
luminous flask,
your beauty formed
petal by petal,
crystal scales expanded you
and in the secrecy of the dark earth
your belly grew round with dew.
Under the earth
the miracle
happened
and when your clumsy
green stem appeared,
and your leaves were born
like swords
in the garden,
the earth heaped up her power
showing your naked transparency,
and as the remote sea
in lifting the breasts of Aphrodite
duplicating the magnolia,
so did the earth
make you,
onion
clear as a planet
and destined
to shine,
constant constellation,
round rose of water,
upon
the table
of the poor.

You make us cry without hurting us.
I have praised everything that exists,
but to me, onion, you are
more beautiful than a bird
of dazzling feathers,
heavenly globe, platinum goblet,
unmoving dance
of the snowy anemone

and the fragrance of the earth lives
in your crystalline nature.