Saturday, March 29, 2008


Photo by S. Auberle
6:45 a.m.
honeyed tea
and warm scones
halo of sunshine
five candles
and a lily
on the oak table
three blooms
three buds
birdsong--the music
playing and
Ashokan Farewell...
now and then
in our tangled lives
come undemanding moments...
do not, please,
let them pass
- mimi

Thursday, March 27, 2008


Photo by S. Auberle
AAhh, Spring.
No, not yet Spring.
And no longer Winter.
I'm adding a new season to the other four. This season of hope, expectation, possibility, promise: Wing. Yes, Wing is the name for this season--a combination of winter and spring. And a season of wings...the migrating birds, birds in their nuptial plumage, their joy in songs of new light.
Have settled in this beautiful place of snowy woods and ice-bound waters, after my own migration north. Arrived here voiceless, without words. That's how it feels and I've been reluctant to resume this blog because of that.
It was a long trip, full of every kind of weather March can throw at you--ice, snow, fog, sun, wind and rain--beautiful weather, but treacherous on some days. Seeing the crane migration was unforgettable, magical even. Someday, if and when I find the words, I'll write about it.
The visit home was poignant, bittersweet, as those visits often are--but good.
And now, having exhausted my small store of words, I'll return to silence, a quality long undervalued. Return to that ice-edged beach I walked yesterday, its sand winter-scoured and clean, the open waters that shade of heartbreak blue. I'll watch again for the winter ferry, a few ducks, the pure grace of two swans rounding the point.
Listen to the wind...
- mimi

Thursday, March 13, 2008


Photo by S. Auberle
Gypsy Woman is on the move again. Kermit, my it-isn't-easy-being-green car is almost packed and ready to go. Mountains--will be seeing lots of mountains: the Sangre de Cristos; the Rockies; up to the city lights of Denver for a visit with friends; then onto those flat plains of Nebraska to see the return of the sandhill cranes; eastward to the hometown for awhile; then north--to woods and waters perhaps still frozen, but with spring waiting in the wings...
- mimi

Wednesday, March 12, 2008


Photo by S. Auberle

another old, old poem...

Blow, purple wind
ride your wild horse tonight.
My sundown man comes,
enfolds me
in his blanket.
With turquoise and coral
we paint our medicine
in the sand
and your icy fingers
will not reach in here
- mimi

Monday, March 10, 2008


"Riverhouse" Ruin - Photo by S. Auberle

I may have posted this poem before, if so, I apologize. But just ran across it again, liked it, and decided to post it.

Once in awhile, out in the desert,
comes a day when anything can happen.
A day when you lose yourself
in that pool of light just at the horizon,
when you can see time
running backward in a lizard's eye,
a day when a voice seems to murmur
from crumbling hilltop ruins:
approach with respect
the land you tread on
was once my bones...
Comes a day when stones speak
and you understand,
a day when you know Coyote knows,
a day when old pottery buried in the earth
fills your heart with words:
look, the sky is round above you
like my red bowl
like time in its circle
like the Earth
holding all our bones...
- mimi

Sunday, March 09, 2008


Las Vegas "Paris" poster

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?"
- Mary Oliver

Saturday, March 08, 2008


Digital Image by S. Auberle
Moving along in English history, I've since fallen in love with the YOUNG Henry VIII. I know, he was a tyrant, a womanizer, a really bad guy in many ways. But he was once young and incredibly handsome, from what I've read--a shining, golden, prince of men. It really isn't fair to focus only on his later years, when he went so astray and became the horribly fat, repulsive looking man we see in all those pictures. Wherever he is now, I've no doubt he cringes everytime he sees one of those fat pictures and mutters, damn, couldn't they find a better picture than THIS?
I adored the BBC series The Six Wives of Henry VIII. If you have any interest in this period, this is the piece to see--in six parts.
It is suspected that Henry was the mysterious author of that beautiful song--Greensleeves. Written, perhaps, to a young Anne Boleyn. However, there is also the Kingston Trio song about Anne:
With her head tucked
underneath her arm
she walks the bloody towers,
with her head tucked
underneath her arm
at the midnight hour...
It's doubtful Henry wrote that.
I once firmly believed in reincarnation. I've not completely given up on the idea, but with aging, though I would like to believe it even more, the doubts creep in. It may be, however, that given my passionate love of this time and place, perhaps I was Anne Boleyn. Not because I fancy myself a queen, but because still, after all these years, I'm not even CLOSE to getting my head on straight...

Friday, March 07, 2008


Mandala by S. Auberle

"I get by with a little help from my friends."
- John Lennon
"A friend is one to whom one may pour out
all the contents of one's heart, chaff and
grain together, knowing that the gentlest
of hands will take and sift it, keep what is
worth keeping and with a breath
of kindness blow the rest away."
- Arabian proverb
"Hold a true friend with both hands."
- Nigerian proverb
Happy Birthday to all my Pisces friends!
- mimi

Thursday, March 06, 2008


Digitally enhanced photo by S. Auberle
Went to see The Other Boleyn Girl yesterday. Not the greatest movie I've seen, by far, but tolerable. I am a passionate fan of all things medieval English. This may date back to high school, and my first exposure to this period. Not in History class, no, that was boring and dull--nothing but battles. My awakening occurred in English Lit class, when I balanced the true, romantic tale of Katherine Swynford and the Duke of Lancaster in front of my textbook and totally lost myself in their love story until another (rude) awakening occurred. I reluctantly tore myself away from the English castles to find a very tall nun staring down at me and (rudely) snatching the book away, with the terse announcement I was to join her in her office. This would be the school principal--feared by all--she put up with absolutely no nonsense, unlike some of the other nuns whom we could gently terrorize.
As I sat there in her office, she not only thoroughly ripped me for being uninterested in literature, but also denounced the book--claiming it to be a source of impure thoughts (a huge issue of mine at confession) and lewd text. I did, however, score one small victory---with the most innocent of looks, I casually mentioned the fact that this book was gotten right off our oh-so-pure-and-holy library shelves! She became even more incensed at that, but looking in the back of the book, found the school stamp, and could not argue with me.
I served the two weeks of detention without complaint.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008


Monday, March 03, 2008


Photo by S. Auberle
Once I liked
the fancy stuff
a designer latte
a truly fine Pinot Noir
one perfect tulip
lobster dipped in butter
you in a suit and tie
when it wasn't for a funeral
even a tux--once
but then
there's campfire coffee
from a battered pot
bluegrass and Two Buck Chuck
walleye fried in an iron skillet
your old wood-scented sweater
I wear to stay warm
now that fancy
doesn't live here anymore...
- mimi