Back between trips

Back from our travels to Toppenish and Albany. In the former, Yakama reservation, where they raise gaint vegtables, and those much more tasty than anything found in a modern supermarket. Hot house tomatoes taste like cardboard compared to sun and vine ripened.

In Albany, we stayed at the Blue Ox RV Park, which next to TimberLinn city park. It was the weekend of the Air and Art Show. For three mornings I had the pleasure of seeing between 30 and 40 hot air balloons ascend and travel south. Surprisingly, they did not travel far, only between 5 and 10 miles, which would take about an hour. The cost to ride - $300 to $500 - ouch pricy. Needless to say, I did not ride, but I did get some poems for the Names of the Sun series I am writing with Kathy Papoure. Even numbered poems are hers, odd numbered mine.

By the way, we got rain last night, a trace at best; so it is a good day to wash the RV.

Have a good end of August and see you next month.

Smiles.

Gary

*

112. Glare, Parched

Days dry waiting for rain
the sun awake all night,
small bites in zucchini
red strawberries stolen.

The thirsty thief unseen
sneaks under leaf edges,
chatters at passerby
steals the garden's bounty.


113. Morning, First Light

A feathered chorus greets awakening,
morning light spills shadows upon the sheets.
You move close as the first rays strike your eyes,
I move closer when your covers fall away.


114. Never Setting Sun

Blue sky burdened with the bulk of clouds;
along the creek, golden rod, joe-pye weed --
sunset blooming near the water's edge,
dusk will arrive soon, your heart calls me home.


115. Sheen, Drought

Blue skies brushed with wisps of colorless clouds,
too thin to stop the sun’s relentless glare;
clear horizons spackled with tufts of white,
too minute to hold a single dry drop .


116. Sun Flight, Change

This old path, hardwoods once shaded the way,
the scent of saw-felled pine dry on the breeze;
aspen thickets gather in the barrens,
perhaps more tiger swallowtails in spring.


117. Illuminate, Air Show

The damselfly brightens the morning sky
as it flits among balloons descending
unbidden on newly harvested fields,
smell wrong for blossoms so full of color.


118. Bowl Of Light

I see your damselfly, smell ripe pumpkins;
my sunflowers tower, maroon faces.
Tomatoes galore, jars of dill pickles,
petals and wings pressed, color for cold days.


119. Flambeau, Farm

Displayed, tomatoes as large as grapefruit;
summer squash in need of a truck to haul.
A watermelon nursed by desert sun,
perfect for a grandson’s birthday present.


120. Rain Light, Jubilation

Ruby hummingbirds sit on pine branches,
open wings to catch blue beads, splash and bathe;
sun dry they hover feeder to flower,
rays of light chase each other across sky.


121. Rainbow, Along the River

A plume of smoke rises from blackened fields,
hawks hover over once golden stubble.
Hot air balloons ascend at day’s first light,
every rainbow shade tints the stream’s flow.