#2783

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In my dream, four small birds bright as blue sapphires flit about my bedroom. Assuming they’re trapped, I go to open the window to free them. When I reach the window, however, I see hanging from the top trim the beginnings of a nest. The birds are in the process of making a little home here. I fret about letting them out now; it’s deep winter, will they be able to build a new nest outdoors before the elements get them? Am I harming them more by setting them free than by keeping them inside, even if my bedroom isn’t their natural habitat? When I get too close to the nest, or try to catch them, the birds dive at my head and scratch me with their small, sharp claws. Clearly they believe they belong here! Waking, I wonder, why am I in such a hurry to cast out the blessings that choose to nest with me?

#2782 – 2025 Book List

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This year I read a total of 75 books. I didn’t think I would reach 70 (it’s been a hard year and I just didn’t read as much as I wanted), but I read a ton of graphic novels when I took a week off work in December. Of the 75 books I read in 2025, 29 were fiction, 19 were nonfiction, and 27 were graphic novels. By my best guess, at least 24 of these were written by people of color. As usual, T. Kingfisher continues to deliver stellar reads and for those who like audiobooks, the unabridged audiobook of World War Z is absolutely fantastic.

  1. Preaching Justice: Ethnic and Cultural Perspectives – Christine Marie Smith
  2. Interfaith Ministry Handbook: Prayers, Readings, and Other Resources for Pastoral Settings – Ed. Matt Sanders
  3. Chaplaincy: A Ministry of Presence – Matt Sanders
  4. Misery – Stephen King*
  5. A Night in the Lonesome October – Roger Zelazny*
  6. The Halloween Tree – Ray Bradbury*
  7. Cascadia Field Guide – Ed. Elizabeth Bradfield, CMarie Fuhrman, Derek Sheffield
  8. Troublemaker Firestarter Vol 8: Heartbreaker
  9. Claws – Mike and Rachel Grinti
  10. Doll Volume 1 – Mitsukazu Mihara
  11. Doll Volume 2 – Mitsukazu Mihara
  12. The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home (A Welcome to Night Vale Book) – Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor*
  13. The Mist – Stephen King
  14. Night Shift – Stephen King
  15. World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War – Max Brooks*
  16. Full Dark, No Stars – Stephen King
  17. The Bazaar of Bad Dreams: Stories – Stephen King
  18. A Man and His Cat: Volume 13 – Umi Sakurai
  19. Death and Salvation in Ancient Egypt – Jan Assmann
  20. Inannanthology – Ed. Steff V Scott and Samuel David
  21. Good Omens – Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
  22. Chicxulub: The Impact and Tsunami – David Shonting and Cathy Ezrailson
  23. Tamora Pierce’s Song of the Lioness Book 1: A Graphic Novel Adaptation – Vita Ayala and Sam Beck
  24. Surviving a Tsunami at 13: A Memoir – Monica Ribeiro Connelly
  25. Nuclear Ghost: Atomic Livelihoods in Fukushima’s Gray Zone – Ryo Morinoto
  26. After: A Doctor Explores What Near Death Experiences Reveal About Life and Beyond – Bruce Greyson
  27. The Energy of Prayer: How to Deepen Your Spiritual Practice – Thich Nhat Hanh
  28. Biohazard: The Chilling True Story of the Largest Covert Biological Weapons Program in the World  – Ken Alibek
  29. Death Glitch: How Techno-solutionism Fails Us in This Life and Beyond – Tamara Kneese
  30. Krakatoa: The Day the World Exploded – Simon Winchester
  31. The Necromouser and Other Magical Cats – Mary E Lowd
  32. Nine Princess in Amber (The Chronicles of Amber Book 1) – Roger Zelazny
  33. The Guns of Avalon (The Chronicles of Amber Book 2) – Roger Zelazny
  34. The Sign of the Unicorn (The Chronicles of Amber Book 3)– Roger Zelazny
  35. The Hand of Oberon (The Chronicles of Amber Book 4) – Roger Zelazny
  36. The Courts of Chaos (The Chronicles of Amber Book 5) – Roger Zelazny
  37. Trumps of Doom (The Chronicles of Amber Book 6) – Roger Zelazny
  38. Blood of Amber (The Chronicles of Amber Book 7) – Roger Zelazny
  39. Sign of Chaos (The Chronicles of Amber Book 8) – Roger Zelazny
  40. Knight of Shadows (The Chronicles of Amber Book 9) – Roger Zelazny
  41. Prince of Chaos (The Chronicles of Amber Book 10) – Roger Zelazny
  42. Seven Tales in Amber: Stories from the Chronicles of Amber Saga – Roger Zelazny
  43. Hemlock and Silver – T. Kingfisher
  44. Varjak Paw – SF Said
  45. What Stalks the Deep (Sworn Soldier Book 3) – T. Kingfisher
  46. The Wisdom of Listening – Ed. Mark Brady
  47. Over the Seawall: Tsunamis, Cyclones, Drought, and the Delusion of Controlling Nature – Stephen Robert Miller
  48. After the Tsunami: Disaster Narratives and the Remaking of Everyday Life in Aceh – Annemarie Samuels
  49. The Outlaw Varjak Paw – SF Said
  50. A Man and His Cat Volume 14 – Umi Sakurai
  51. Snake-Eater – T. Kingfisher
  52. How to Be Perfect: The Correct Answer to Every Moral Question – Michael Schur
  53. Pink Candy Kiss Vol 1 – Ami Uozumi
  54. Mr. Villain’s Day Off Vol 1 – Yuu Morikawa
  55. Woman World – Aminder Dhaliwal
  56. A Witch’s Guide to Burning – Aminder Dhaliwal
  57. The Fox Maidens: A Queer, Feminist Korean Fantasy Graphic Novel – Robin Ha
  58. Astrology Plain and Simple – Cass and Janie Jackson
  59. A Fire Story – Brian Fies
  60. Monstress Vol. 1 – Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda
  61. Monstress Vol. 2 – Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda
  62. Monstress Vol. 3 – Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda
  63. Monstress Vol. 4 – Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda
  64. Brooms – Jasmine Walls and Teo DuVall
  65. The Out Side: Trans and Nonbinary Comics – Ed. The Kao, Min Christensen, and David Daneman
  66. Youth Group – Jordan Morris
  67. Bad Dreams in the Night – Adam Ellis
  68. The Deep Dark – Molly Knox Ostertag
  69. The Girl from the Sea – Molly Knox Ostertag
  70. Us – Joamette Gil, Silvia Perea Labayen, Sara Soler
  71. Artie and the Wolf Moon – Olivia Stephens
  72. Let Me in Your Window – Adam Ellis
  73. Ever After – Olivia Vieweg
  74. Mooncakes – Suzanne Walker and Wendy Xu
  75. This Place: 150 Years Retold

*Audiobook

#2781 – Winter Solstice 2025

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The winter solstice. Shortest night. Death of the light. An old story and a familiar one. 

In an apartment empty and quiet as a tomb, Tanim lifts his chin and raises a blade – small for this task, but so sharp, a little crescent moon of a thing – then draws it across his neck in a quick line. He manages to wipe the bloody knife on one crisp cuff of his Armani dress shirt before his knees buckle and he falls–

“Not so fast,” a voice chuckles against his ear and suddenly hands arrest his fall. One, between his shoulderblades, bears him gently to the thick white carpet and keeps his head elevated. The other hand holds a small golden goblet to his cut throat to catch the river of blood. “That’s not how it plays out this time, Brother,” their owner chastises him. 

“…Mage?” Tanim blinks up at the blurry figure above him, trying to keep his heavy eyelids open. “What–” His words cut off as he starts coughing. Blood slicks his lips. “Aren’t you tired of this?” the woman propping his head up asks with a theatrical sigh. “The same story over and over again? The same ending with no beginning?” As she sets the brimming goblet aside, Tanim licks his bloody lips and tries to speak again. He can barely keep his eyes open now; his voice is a wet whisper when he asks, “What are you doing here?”

Mage presses her free hand to the gaping wound in his neck, staunching the flow of warm blood that soaks his unbuttoned collar and drips to the pale carpet below. “Changing the narrative,” she replies with a mischievous wink. “Now watch this.” The sorceress leans down and kisses Tanim’s forehead, her dark hair falling on either side of his face and briefly obscuring his vision. Then she lays his head down on the carpet and removes her hand from his neck. As she rises, he hears a single snap of her fingers, loud in the silent room. 

“I don’t understa–” Tanim pauses. Blinks. They are not in the apartment anymore. They are not anywhere he recognizes – or anywhere at all, it seems. It looks like they are floating in space, with star-dusted darkness all around them, only he can feel a cold, smooth surface beneath him. He lifts one trembling hand to his throat and prods where the deadly wound should be. Instead, there is only the raised ridge of a thin, horizontal scar beneath the film of sticky blood. He swallows, clears his throat. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Mage helps Tanim to his feet, her heels clicking sharply on whatever stands for a floor here, then takes up the goblet again. “It’s in your blood, after all.” She turns away and holds the goblet out into the darkness like an offering to the universe. “Wanna see something cool?” she asks, casting Tanim a quick grin over her shoulder before turning the cup over. 

Blood pours forth from the goblet; far more than such a small vessel should contain. It spills out into the void, glistening with starlight, but does not move like any normal fluid. It twists and flows until it has formed a doorway before Mage, a rectangle of darkness devoid of feature or depth. Mage casts the goblet aside and extends her hand into the portal. When she draws it back out, her hand clasps that of another. 

Daren steps forth from the darkness. The portal vanishes. “Well met, Sister,” he says, bowing over her hand and brushing the lightest kiss across her knuckles before releasing it. “Well met, Brother,” she replies with a fond smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“How–” Tanim shakes his head as he looks from one to the other. “How did you do this?” As Daren moves past her, Mage answers with a self-satisfied shrug. “We can do whatever the fuck we want. It’s time we start acting like it, don’t you think?” 

Tanim begins to argue but Daren silences him with a hard, hungry kiss, fists gripping the bloody collar of his shirt to pull him close. “Did you miss me?” the man asks with a knowing smirk when they finally break apart. It takes Tanim a moment to catch his breath. When he does, he matches his lover’s smile with his own and presses the wicked little knife into his hand. “Here. I think you’ll want this back.”

“If you two boys are quite done,” Mage throws her arms around their shoulders, sharp canines flashing as she grins, “I want to go play. Let’s stir up some trouble, hmm?”

The winter solstice. Shortest night. Death of the light. An old story and a (un)familiar one.

[ Read the rest of the solstice fragments here. ] 

#2780

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I am the Bitch Goddess. Too loud; too proud. Too rude; too crude. They want me to starve myself, so I feast. They want me to hate myself, so I sing my own praises. They want me to enslave myself, so I dance naked on the corpses of my enemies. I do not serve. I do not bow. Even death I faced with head held high and emerged triumphant over it. I am id, ego, and super-ego. I am paradox made flesh. I am a bad bitch, a boss bitch, THAT bitch – and I cannot be shamed.

#2779

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Would it be so terrible, the Nameless muses, if death really was the end for you humans? We look out over rows of fresh tree stumps and piles of shredded branches where once a line of pines paralleled the highway. Now the golf course they blocked from sight stretches like a green wasteland beyond. The essence of chaos asks, Do you deserve to continue endlessly? To enforce your ceaseless consumption upon the land unto the ten thousandth generation of reincarnation, or inherit some shining kingdom in which you remain eternally unchanging and unchallenged? She chuckles while I navigate traffic. You pave the earth. You colonize the heavens. You slaver at the thought of terraforming other planets so you can continue ravaging once you have stripped this one of its resources. And you think you deserve immortality? I park and sit in the pre-dawn dark. I don’t have an answer.

#2778

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If I ever reach that final gate at which they ask me to surrender you, so I might pass beyond, how will I even do such a thing? You are not clothing or jewels to be cast aside like the Queen of Heaven did when she descended into the Underworld. I could cut open my wrists, let the blood come flowing out of me, but even that would not suffice. You are in my very marrow; I would have to break my bones and let the ghosts suck you out. You are in my dreams; I would have to crack my skull open like a pot shattered on the flagstones. You are in my soul and I do not know how to even touch such a thing, let alone exorcize your presence from it.

Maybe it’s impossible. Maybe I’ll never pass through that gate. 

Maybe that’s how I want it.

#2777

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Dear Glacier,

Thank you for the myriad ways in which you have literally and figuratively shaped so much of our world and our history. You have left your mark on the land I call home in the forms of steep hills and U-shaped valleys, scattered lakes and massive boulders, and thick layers of rich glacial till studded with countless pebbles. Once you covered this entire land, your miles-thick bulk depressing the frozen earth beneath. As the planet warmed you began your slow retreat, carving the classic geologic formations of your kind while you crept north. Then for many millennia life flourished in the space you left behind, nourished by processes tied intimately and intricately to your existence in mountain ranges, alpine valleys, and at both of the planet’s poles. We may have been grateful for your surrendering of the land, but we are equally grateful for your continued presence and your role in the water cycle that gives us life.

Yet now the planet warms uncontrollably and we have forced you into exile – only the highest peaks and the remotest parts of the poles remain cold enough for your continued existence, let alone for you to grow or even simply remain in balance. You lose three hundred billion tons of ice each year in this new millennia of mass industry and thoughtless environmental destruction. Those who are not familiar with your power do not understand the implications of your slow death, nor the scale on which we will suffer when you are gone for good, but many of us do. We grieve for you and with you. 

When I look east to great Tahoma this summer, I see you have shrunk upon her fair crown. More bare, gray stone shows through these days, and the snowfall melts earlier each year. Soon beloved Nisqually Glacier, to whom I once hiked and whose runoff I studied for a summer, will go the way of you all and leave only her carved valley behind, an empty impression of an absent body. What did my research findings that summer matter, in the end? We knew then. We know now. We still don’t act. And while we dither, you melt.

Thank you, Glacier, and I’m sorry.

#2776

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As humans we are connected by more than shared DNA. We are connected by the prima mundis – the first of the world. We are connected by the first humans’ grief, as far back as those archaic pre-humans who must have mourned Lucy over three million years ago. Thousands of generations have gone before us and passed down through the ages every sorrow, loss, and hurt into a distillation of genetic grief we bear in our veins, our bones, our souls. The greatest river of tears cannot weep this ancestral grief from our eyes; neither the loudest laughter nor fiercest dancing can expel this grief from our lungs or shake it from our limbs. This grief is our legacy. This grief holds and buoys us within the network of all who have come before. This grief is our connection to the past, our anchor in the present, and our gift to the future.

#2775

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Tell me, oh Queen of Heaven, when they took your sacred raiment from you, was there even the smallest part of you that felt relief? Unburdened one by one of the sacred mes as you descended through each gate of the Underworld, did you find yourself standing a little taller, moving a little easier? With loyal Ninshubur counting the days until your return, ready to sound the alarm should you fail to reappear, you had no responsibilities or worries while you remained below. This was your journey; this was your time of withdrawal and cessation. Were even those three days you hung dead on the meat hook a form of self-care? You of course gained wisdom in that time, and faced the darkness of your shadow, but I wonder if you also found rest and renewal during that period of literal and metaphorical suspension. Perhaps there is more to the descent than surrendering. Perhaps even the strongest of us deserves to retreat from duty for a time. Is that part of your teaching as well?

#2774

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I wonder if we flatter you, Cascadia, with our articles and workshops and conferences held in your name. Once there would have been festivals and ceremonies to curry favor or displace the wrath of such a volatile force of nature; now there are Wikipedia pages and academic debates about your mysterious past and unpredictable future. We pour over emergency response plans like sacred texts. We utter your name with anxiety and awe. Are the towers we build to escape your waves an adequate substitute for temples? Are evacuation route signs an adequate substitute for statuary or symbology? You have become famous and infamous, Cascadia. Does this please you? Do you finally have the recognition you deserve?

#2773

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Mother Bast,

treat me as a mother cat her kitten:

with infinite love

with infinite patience

with infinite forgiveness.

#2772

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In a time of increasing human violence and global instability, it is natural to wonder who to call upon for guidance. Who can shepherd us through such chaos? Who can help us fight for a just and peaceful future? It may seem counterintuitive, but I believe that some of our best allies in this struggle are gods of war. From ancient religious pantheons to modern, war gods have long held places of great esteem. Far from being bringers of death and destruction, gods of war bear transformative wisdom if we are willing to open ourselves to their powerful energies.

When you call upon Bast, Egyptian goddess of war and family, she brings the wisdom to recognize there are many kinds of war beyond that of soldiers and swords. There are the wars we fight to protect what we love, wars that take place at kitchen tables and in courtrooms and on picket lines. There are the wars we fight to protect ourselves, wars where we draw emotional and mental boundaries in the sand. There are the wars we fight within ourselves as we struggle against internalized judgement and the disappointment of human fallibility. Wars of addiction. Wars for self-love. Wars swirl endlessly around us and Bast teaches us to recognize and name them all, that we might learn which are worthy of our attention.

When you call upon Inanna, Sumerian goddess of war and civilization, she brings the wisdom to choose our battles. There are many kinds of war and each presents different opportunities to advance and retreat, to make haste or slow pace, to take up arms or lay down shields. Every war is a dance of hard and soft strength that we navigate by recognizing when and where we are most likely to succeed, as well as when and where we are willing to take a loss. We do not have to fight every battle. Choice is the greatest weapon we have and Inanna teaches us to wield it with skill.

When you call upon the Morrigan, Celtic goddess of war and poetry, she brings the wisdom to understand what role to play in the conflict. No war is won by armies alone; the champion needs a multitude of skills and resources available to emerge victorious. For myself, I know I am not meant to be a warrior and have no business on certain battlefields. Yet I also know I can use my words to inspire, to comfort, and to heal, and I can help foster the strengths of others as they in turn seek to identify their own role. When we cannot fight, we can instead support, and the Morrigan teaches us to focus our skills where they are most beneficial.

War gods are powerful allies in this time of chaos and heartbreak. From war gods we learn the true value of life and the great cost of protecting what is most precious to us. We learn how to recognize the wars worth fighting and how we can utilize our individual choices and skills as we fight our battles. 

So in this time when fear and helplessness unite us, let us pray:

May the gods of war protect us during times of strife
and guide us during times of uncertainty.

May they lift us up when battle leaves us exhausted
and bind our wounds when battle leaves us injured.

May we fight together, human and divine,
for a world where justice, peace, and mercy reign.

May it be so.

#2771

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O Great Mothers

wise beyond my human understanding

take my grief

take my rage

take my fear

pour them into your vast crucible

so they cannot overwhelm me

and I can breathe again

#2770

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[ The first draft of a seminary class assignment to write a homily or other piece to be read aloud. The only requirement was to include a prayer. ]

Ancient pantheons are full of war gods – Athena, Odin, Sekhmet, Badb, Mars, Baal, Ishtar, etcetera, an endless litany of battle and death. For many of the nations who worshipped these pantheons, war gods played key roles and held places of great esteem. Most of these nations no longer exist, or have so transformed over the millennia that they look nothing like they did at the height of their power. There are no city states for these gods to defend, no clans clashing on the battlefield over which to pronounce divine prophecies, yet their presences are still felt today and many remain highly venerated by the pagan community. What does it mean, then, in a time of such human violence and global uncertainty to willingly align oneself to gods who are themselves known for the violence they can leave in their wake? Why do these ancient gods of war call to so many of us, and why do so many of us answer that call?

As a devotee of Bast, for me it means recognizing that there are many kinds of war beyond that of soldiers and swords. There are the wars we fight to protect what we love, wars that take place at kitchen tables and in courtrooms and on picket lines. There are the wars we fight to protect ourselves, wars where we draw emotional and mental, as much as physical, boundaries in the sand. There are the wars we fight within ourselves as we struggle against internalized judgement and the disappointment of human fallibility. Wars of addiction. Wars for self-love. Wars swirl endlessly around us and my goddess teaches me to recognize and name them all, that I might learn which are worthy of my claws.

As a devotee of Inanna, for me it means learning how to choose my battles. There are many kinds of war and each presents different opportunities to advance and retreat, to make haste or slow pace, to take up arms or lay down shields. Every war is a dance of hard and soft strength that we navigate by recognizing when and where we are most likely to succeed, as well as when and where we are willing to take a loss. We do not have to fight every battle. Choice is the greatest weapon we have and my goddess teaches me to wield it with skill.

As a devotee of the Morrigan, for me it means understanding what role to play in the conflict. No war is won by armies alone; the champion needs a multitude of skills and resources available to emerge victorious. For myself, I know I am not meant to be a warrior and have no business on certain battlefields. Yet I also know I can use my words to inspire, to comfort, and to heal, and that I can help foster the strengths of others as they in turn seek to identify their own role. When we cannot fight, we can instead support, and my goddess teaches me to focus my skills where they are most beneficial.

Devotees of war gods do not worship the blood and death of wars fought for the benefit of arms dealers or the petty tantrums of dictators. We cherish the wisdom these gods grant us and the strength they nurture within us. From war gods we learn the true value of life and the great cost of protecting what is most precious to us. That is why they call to us, and that is why we answer their call. 

So in these unprecedented times, let us pray:

May the gods of war protect us during times of strife
and guide us during times of uncertainty.

May they lift us up when battle leaves us exhausted
and bind our wounds when battle leaves us injured.

May we fight together, human and divine,
for a world where justice, peace, and mercy reign.

#2769 – Summer Solstice 2025

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The Moon may be deceitful, a creature of shadow and light, but never forget the Sun is a killer and only a killer. He does not wax; he does not wane. He is a white-hot core burning unceasingly since the dawn of time. Patient and inexorable, he draws everything into his orbit through the mere weight of his presence. What seems a gift of benevolence from him is merely the masking of his worst qualities until they appear through the haze to be blessings. And from the right distance, with the right amount of shielding, the light his regard casts does indeed glow golden warm.

But the Sun is a killer and only a killer. Your natural arrogance and distrust have protected you so far, but they cannot protect you forever. Eventually his heat will burn them away and you will face the full magnitude of his power. There will be no illusion of blessings then – only the searing consequence of remaining within his gravitational field.

#2768

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you call from across time and space

Chicxulub, World-ender

you who lay low and raise up

bringer of darkness, unyielding winter

teach us what it means to cease

teach us how to survive cataclysm

remind us that end is beginning

and beginning is end

#2767

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a house unhaunted

I break mirrors, walk under ladders

step on cracks and overturn salt shakers

anything to curse myself again

to capture the attention of foul spirits

in the hopes of luring yours 

back inside

#2765

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Do not fear, saber-toothed queen of beasts, as you struggle against the sucking asphalt. Though it spells your death, a fall into the tarpit is not the end of your journey, only a period of transformation. Like a seed germinating in the soil’s rich darkness, you will sleep these hundred thousand years away while your body metamorphoses from vulnerable flesh to immortal stone. At the other end of this chrysalistic time you will emerge triumphant from the thickened tar, forever the predator queen resplendent in fangs and claws. The tar may kill you, but it will also deliver you safe and whole to the present day so you may live again, snarling on your throne while on the other side of the glass a young child stares in awe. The tar may kill you, but it will also indelibly bind our species together across time and memory.

#2764

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truly it seems the plagues have come again

that a time of penitence and punishment is upon us

so tell me, you gods who look down at humanity’s doings

and watched us bring this doom on ourselves

what blood offering must I spread across the lintel 

to keep out that deadliest pestilence, ICE?

or, failing that, what holy mixture might bar the intrusion 

of measles, bird flu, and covid-19?

what show of heavenly loyalty will buy our safety

what sacrifice keep our home unmolested

and let us sleep peacefully through the night?

we did not ask for this

we have not transgressed

we do not worship false Capitalist gods

so pass us by, plague

pass us by, harvesters of death

pass us by

#2763

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“Initiation At the End of the World”

  1. Radical Severance

from the life we once knew
from the future we expected
from the resolution we deserved

  1. Radical Alteration

in our connection to community
in our relationship to morality
in our allegiance to equity

  1. Radical Realization

that we can never go back
that we have fewer options than ever before
that we must push forward anyway
despite of
and because of

#2762

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My tears are not my tears. They are the tears of Bee, of Ammonite, of Hermit Crab and Pileated Woodpecker and Ten-lined June Beetle. They are Gaia’s tears, Bast’s tears, Tahoma’s tears. These tears fall from my eyes but they are the tears of Orca and Eagle and Alder. I weep on behalf of those who cry in other languages. I weep in place of those who are no longer here to cry out with us. I weep while Coyote howls and Owl calls haunting lullabies that dwindle in number each summer. One day I will not be here to shed these tears either. Will someone else cry for me? Will there be anyone left by then? One day the last tear will fall from the last eyes and then all crying will cease. One day the last raindrop will fall from the last raincloud and then even the sky’s weeping will cease. Who will be left then, to wail or rage or beat the ground and tear their hair? I weep because that day approaches and we do nothing to stop it, and so these are not my tears. They are the tears of everything that has ever existed and ever will. I am merely the conduit.

#2761

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Pacific Northwest Spring

scraps of sunshine flit

‘twixt evergreen boughs

calling high, “po-ta-to-chip!”

[songbirdhub.com/goldfinch-sounds/]

#2760

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I hope you are real.

I hope you are ancient
and terrible
and cruel. 

I hope you were the first
and will be the last
and are unending. 

I hope you stole the lighter
and turned on the burners
and set off the smoke detectors.

I hope you tell me lies
and send me strange visions
and claimed me a thousand lifetimes ago.

I hope I understand this right
and that I’m not just crazy
and that I’m not just alone.

I hope you are real.

I fear that you’re not.

#2759

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Lessons from Oak Tree

that which grows slowest grows largest

that which grows quickest dies soonest

incubation must complete 

before germination commences

do not rush what nature has perfected

#2758

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Dear Bee,

You carry the world on your small, fuzzy back – you and all your pollinator siblings. Your round hives, bursting with honey and generations of life, are the very representation of the great turning of the earth and its seasons. Your never-ending industry upholds whole economies of ecosystems, yet your work goes so underappreciated!

Thank you, Bee, for all you give us. Not just your golden honey, sweet as any nectar of the gods. Not just for your wax, so versatile and reliable. Not even just for the growing of our food, the blossoming and blessing of our fruits and flowers. Thank you, Bee, for those so very important things, but thank you even more for your gentle buzzing, that summer’s day drone that lulls us to sleep in sunny fields. Thank you for your fuzzy body dusted with pollen, light as a feather when you alight on our skin. Thank you for the tickle of your tiny feet and the glimmer of your delicate wings. Thank you for your perseverance, your beauty, your kindness, your courage. Thank you for your dance, a language older and more complex than any ever spoken with the human tongue.

It’s said you must tell the bees of any significant death, but I doubt you need us to tell you the earth is dying. I think you knew before we did – or at least before we were willing to admit it out loud. You are ancient, and you are vital, but you are fragile. And we are killing you. You and all of your pollinator siblings.

I am sorry, Bee. I hope we stop this man-made catastrophe in time and I hope you’re still with us on the other side. We won’t deserve that, but you do. If anyone – anything – should inherit the earth, it should be you, Bee.

Thank you, Bee.

#2757

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Vague Posting Poeming About Work

Patience, child,

said the Morrigan to me when,

like every youth who dreams of justice,

I begged to know my place in her army.

Battle comes to each in their own time

and cannot – should not – be rushed.

Standing now on the field of battle,

I know her words were true, and yet…

never could I have imagined that my war

would be so fucking stupid.

#2756

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Dear Ammonite,

We have never existed together. Your time and mine are more than sixty million years apart, separated by the cataclysmic event which wiped your species and so many others from the planet. We look nothing alike. We are nothing alike. Yet I find myself drawn to you, to your endless spirals, your hollow camerae turned to crystal by time and chemistry. You are a mystery, yet so familiar. Far, far back on the evolutionary tree we share a common branch. You are an ancestor – and you have much to teach.

I look at you, Ammonite, and I see a species helpless in the face of nature. You experienced the worst case scenario, Apocalypse, the End of Days… yet here I am. Life continued after the meteor. Maybe not for you, but it did. And even though you disappeared, we humans eventually came along and dug you out of the rock. We brought you back to life, at least in the form of memory. 

And knowledge. You teach us about your place and time. You teach me that even the end of the world isn’t the end of the world. You are a piece of deep time, of the sacred spiral made flesh, then stone, and when I touch you I feel the entire tree of life fan out, branch by branch down to the deepest roots. You breathe life into the past and I cannot thank you enough for that gift. I struggle to find adequate words for my gratitude.

But you never used words anyway, did you? Not human language, at least.

So thank you, Ammonite.

#2755

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the despair is thick

and I cannot climb out

so the goddess descends the well

and lays in the dark with me

#2754

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1

Dreams full of ghosts these days. Perhaps the chaotic present and uncertain future have stirred them from their sleep in the distant past, rattling coffins and rapping on mausoleum doors, disturbing graveyard grounds where what was better left dead shivers and sits up once more. Perhaps they can sense that we are on the brink of another leave taking, another severing in time where what comes after will be fundamentally fractured from all that came before, and they fear being abandoned to the yet farther distant past. Or perhaps it is only my own guilt that disrupts their slumber, my own remorse at leaving them behind as time moves increasingly faster and every little choice seems to spin off a million fractals of unseen consequences. I cannot take them with me, however, nor do I want to. Yet the future is so unknowable and the small, terrified core of me lashes out, desperate to cling to something familiar, to anything known and quantifiable. So I close my eyes and the ghosts come creeping out again, shaking their chains, and I can still hear the clinking of rusty metal when I wake come morning.