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I have been finding it hard to keep up the momentum of posting.  I have too much “job” work and the book I am writing is whining that I have neglected it and demanding I give it much more of my attention.  I am learning that books can be such jealous children! 

Last week I spent a few days in Phoenix on business.  It was a mild 102 degrees.  The heat elicited claustrophobia as though it were a heavy hand always on my shoulder, or a kind of glass coating pressed up against the surface of my body; one that moved with me as I moved, and never left me unless I stepped into an air-conditioned space; then it wasn’t gone exactly, but sat outside and waited for me; wrapping itself around me again in the instant when I stepped out.

So, I find myself pining again for the foggy skies and cold winds of “summer” on the coast of Northern California.  Which leads me to share another poem about one of the places I love most of all the places I have ever been.

Pt. Reyes, November Moon

Silently, the moonlight
tumbles down the craggy canyon

setting ragged cliffs aglow
striped in gold and velvet shadow

spilling out across the sand
where the surf is coldly blazing.

Heaving sea of deepest black
rimmed with phosphorescent fountains.


One Response

  1. Great analogy on oppressive heat.

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