L'aura del Campo

Zmitri

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          SUMMER: 12 Rahmat (5 July)          

We got rain!

Weather where I am: 77º.
Weather in Naples, Florida: 87º.
Weather in Toulouse, France: 73º.

Ready for some football? I got to see Germany vs. Italy yesterday. The second half was good and the overtime very good. I like games that aren't played totally in the midfield. Today Portugal and France ... we'll see.

Not well yesterday, but doing somewhat better today. Between Joy Harjo's poetry and Linda K. Popov's self-help book and not feeling well I had a horrendous nightmare that woke me up around 4 a.m.: the old paranoia that someone is out to get me. Must somehow deal with this. Went to see my therapist, Susan (not OUR susanL , though she'd do quite well ), this morning and we started working on 'fear'. I could do some of the exercise but froze up. As I told her, issues from the last three years need to be resolved, but I still do not know who to trust. (I'll call Jan. She may know if there is anything for me to worry about.) 'Fear' as an issue goes back to my childhood, so it isn't a matter of just 'getting over it'. There are multiple layers of crap to attend to.

So, I got up after laying in bed not able to go back to sleep. I took a nice hot bath and called Stephen. It's great to know someone who works during the night. Of course, I was tired this morning. Barely caught the bus ...

IMAGES

At the gulch:

The creek is running! last daylily blooms among brown stems; a grasshopper; cotton floating in the air, a cottonwood across the street; osage orange the size of tennis balls; cracked earth (but the edges are softened); a black and white woodpecker; the willow's weep.

This poetic sketch, including the name, came out of nowhere (probably my subconcious ick):

Zmitri

Black forests cover the depths
of orbs, deep brown wells beneath
ridges that question my sanity.

It's been three lifetimes of planets
since my voice twitched your lobes.
Four spans of the universe's collapse,
since I begged your forgiveness.

Imploding once more, I implore,
young keeper of all that's inane,
five moments of tears for these years.

Black locks confirm what brown eyes deny -
my betrayal. Deep brows and deaf ears
hear my true sorrow. Zmitri,
I'm here. I've come back for you. [163.222]

7-7: Due to positive response I also made this poem a separate item that can be reviewed: "Zmitri" .