We might, on some ordinary day…take for granted how beholden we are to the seasons and the countenance of each day and night. But you can not tell me that you have forgotten, on a night like tonight. When the rain comes down steadily, shining in the dark reflections of the street lamps. Tell me truthfully that you do not sit in the quiet breathing in the scents of spring like your life depends on it. Like your black and white isn’t bubbling up with colors you’d all but forgot

Nothing moves, not yet. The gusting wind we’ve all been warned of has not shown its face. The news and the sky, the spaces between stillness that only just whisper, all tell us that it is headed this way. I keep one ear to the window while I work, waiting to see if it is my breath or my veins that will catch the scent first. Blow down the walls, stir up the spirits, lift up our minds. I am ready to go higher. Listening now, to the tops of the trees and the winding of the road

Why is it, do you think...that we don’t know how to say what we mean? I don’t care about climate change. Climates change. But I do care about pollution and excess. I do care that we are careless and arrogant and shortsighted. People can argue about semantics until the last tree burns to the ground. Until the sea chokes on our refuse. They can argue until they are dead and buried. But there are certain things that aren’t based on opinions. There are certain things that don't d

Just there. That great wide moon sliding through the dusty pink sky toward the horizon Toward the foothills. And my heart skips a beat. 6 degrees. Bright and cold. Night as clear as day shining in the western sky this morning. We’re spinning somewhere in between. Between dreams, around memories. Rubbing the sleep from our eyes, Stepping out into the winter air. There is nothing to consider, no terms to weigh. The answers are strewn out beyond the headlights, neat and definite

She wakes me out of a heavy sleep, the earliest darkest hours of the morning. Placing her head on the pillow beside me, though she does not rest. It is her sharp and shivering wakefulness that draws me out of sleep. I start and then drift off again. Ah. But here now, in the morning light. Her face rises up between the gray bank of clouds and the clear blue sky below them. Watchful. Even as she dissolves back into the wild hills. #poetry #moon #moonset #nature #moonnotes © Eli

The day I was born I fought back. Crammed up as high as I could go with my back against the light. I wonder if I knew then. But in the world came to collect me, metal on flesh And they pulled me out in spite of myself. My mother tells me that I refused to open my eyes for weeks. I just kept my face and my fists scrunched up, blocking out the glare. I wonder if I knew then... that as soon as I let the world in, it would start the gruesome work of dissembling me. Putting me bac

Wandering down a familiar stretch of road, winter and spring chasing each other overhead. The light fades and the whole world slips in shades of shadowy blues and blacks and purples. Not a bruised or hidden pallet of paints, rich and fragrant and full of mischief. Twilight, a fleeting window. The closest some of us ever come to the truth. She slips away like a dream, a longing that calls out to you. And just as quickly you begin to forget… Whisked into the darkness, under the