Month: January 2005

Nothing but a Heavy Fog

Since retiring I generally time my walks to fit the sunniest part of the day. Yesterday, though, I had a busy schedule and had to walk early in the morning in very heavy fog or not at all.

There were times when I could barely see beyond Skye’s nose and often ended up just following the pull of the leash as Skye headed down the trail. After my glasses fogged up and I took them off, I probably ended up trusting Skye more than any rational man should.

In the fog, these familiar woods took on an entirely new look.
With the background muted, fallen trees and shrubs near the trail often seemed more formidable, even majestic. Although I was afraid we would see less wildlife than usual, we actually startled two seldom-seen Northern Flickers into flight, a sudden flash of white.

At one point we even found our way blocked by a giant old-growth fir recently brought down by heavy rains and strong winds. More worrisome was another large fir that had only half fallen, slanting across the trail, apparently held mid-fall by giant firs invisible in the deep fog. Though it probably would have been safer to turn back, I decided it would be quicker, or at least more exciting, to duck under the half-fallen tree and crawl over the fallen one.

What started out as a less-than-enthusiastic walk, ended up a pleasant surprise, and, even though skies remained decidedly grey, I started my hectic day a little stronger, a little more prepared for what lies ahead.


Shrouded in such a deep fog
Who can see what lies ahead?
Let’s pretend it’s the way.

thursday, january twentieth, two thousand five

High noon,
still no sign of sun,
clouds lower overhead,
the very puddles
reach the sky,
muddled thoughts
fill my world with
shades of grey.

Even
this miraculous mirror
on the world
gives no reason for joy,
as if some dark force
weaves itself
throughout
our entire kingdom.

Surrounded by troops,
while snipers survey the crowds
our newly-crowned king
proclaims

“We have seen our vulnerability, and we have seen its deepest source. For as long as whole regions of the world simmer in resentment and tyranny — prone to ideologies that feed hatred and excuse murder — violence will gather, and multiply in destructive power, and cross the most defended borders and raise a mortal threat.”

promises to bring
freedom to the world
while Hajj pilgrims symbolically stone Satan
and, putting a modern face on slaughter
Turkish authorities try to clean up ritual killing

Feeling like
some freshly-gored
fisher king,
I cannot help but wonder
if one must
sacrifice the heart
in order to leave
no room for despair.

Snyder’s danger on peaks

I may have put poetry on hold lately, but I haven’t forgotten that this is, after all, primarily a poetry blog. When I read that Gary Snyder’s latest volume of poetry danger on peaks featured poems on Mt St Helens and, as the jacket notes, “poems in an American/Japanese hybrid, a form of haibun, “haiku plus prose,” which will remind readers as much of William Carlos Williams as Basho” I knew that I would have to read it. First because I generally like Snyder, but secondly because, as you may have noticed, I’ve become intrigued with haibun and its many manifestations.

It turns out I was a little disappointed with the poems about Mt. St. Helens, but perhaps that’s because I think I was even more familiar with the area than Snyder was, having lived just south of the mountain for thirty-five years and hiked the area many times both before and after the mountain erupted.

Luckily, I was more impressed with the different variations of haibun Snyder introduces.

My favorite haibun is in many ways quite traditional, but it’s also very personal:

For Anthea Corinne Snyder Lowry
1932-200

She was on the Marin County Grand Jury, heading to a meeting, south of Petaluma on the 101. The pickup ahead of her lost a grass-mower off the back. She pulled onto the shoulder, and walked right out into the lane to take it off. That had always been her way. Struck by a speedy car, an instant death.

White egrets standing there
always standing there
there at the crossing


on the Petaluma River

The extended haibun “After Bamiyan” about the Taliban destruction of the giant Buddhas may well be worth the price of the book itself.

Strangely enough, though, my favorite poem turned out to be a rather traditional one:

Mimulus on the Road to Town

Out of the cracks in the roadcut rockwalls,
clumps of peach-colored mimulus
spread and bloom,
stiffly quiver in the hot
log-truck breeze-blast
always going by “
they never die.

A Test of Character

I don’t remember exactly when or why I started watching Seattle Mariners’ games. I do know I hadn’t watched a complete baseball game for over forty years. In fact, about then I’d decided that I really didn’t want to watch any professional sports, though I still hadn’t been able to wean myself from University of Washington games.

I think I first started watching when I was staying with mother when she was beginning to wander because of her Alzheimer’s. She was relatively happy watching television and, although she had cable, there was little else the three of us (Leslie kept us company) wanted to watch regularly except baseball games.

Surprisingly, Mariner’s games became a regular event after that. Though I still sometimes think the game is about as exciting as watching grass grow, I was drawn by the character of the team, particularly that of Edgar Martinez and John Olerud. Even the bravado of second baseman Brett Boone seemed more playful than arrogant. In fact, there wasn’t a single player I couldn’t root for, and sometimes players like David Bell, Gil Meche, or Scott Speizio who were struggling became my favorites.

Amazingly, Leslie and I actually bought tickets and attended games, the first time I can actually remember attending anything other than a high school game in person. We’ve gone to several games in the past few years and always at least once per season. Although I’ve heard complaints that the Mariner’s won’t allow fans to “have fun,” the park is child friendly and fans, with the possible exception of when Alex returns to town, are overwhelmingly positive. I was amazed to see how many senior citizens were at the stadium and astonished to see an old gentleman wearing an oxygen mask climbing to the top rows of the stadium.

The fact that the Mariners were winning more games than they were losing certainly didn’t detract from my interest. Still, I watched most of their games last year in a painful season that proved the last for Martinez and Olerud. Amazingly, the ballpark was nearly as full as it was in their preceding glory years, which I took as a tribute to the character of the team. If the team had been full of egotistical players who fans loved only for the victories they brought, the ballpark would have been as empty as many of the stadiums the Mariners visit.

The addition of Ichiro with his obvious love of the game was simply icing on the cake. I can’t imagine not wanting to watch Ichiro get another hit. While I know little or nothing about Adrian Beltre, I taught Richie Sexson at Prairie High School, and he’s one of those kids you rooted for because he was a “good kid.” It’s tough not to root for someone like Bucky Jacobsen or Bobby Madritsch to have a good year. I’m looking forward to seeing how this season turns out; certainly it deserves a better finish than last year’s dismal ending.

I’m not na”ve enough to believe that I really know any of these players well enough to accurately judge their character, but I do know that my perception of their character, particularly on the field, is a vital part of how I feel about the game and determines whether or not I’m willing to part with a little of my hard-earned cash.