Alpine Lady

Honoring the natural world through prose, poetry, music, sounds, photographs and musings.

Leaning to the Yang Side of Things

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So that we feel somewhat balanced on the ying/yang side of things, I’m weaving more the yang side aka “the masculine principle” into this posting of Alpine Lady. Please invite your friends to join us!

First is a long poem I’ve formatted as a pdf called: “Where the Hell is Chitina? aka Fishin’ the Copper River for Reds” written 40 years ago chronicling two days of dip netting on the Copper River about 350 miles from our homestead. Other works include a poem entitled: “Cobblestones”; a prose piece also formatted as a pdf: “Gopher Mounds and Pissin’ Around” about local action at a tobacconist’s shop; and finally, two poems – one entitled: “A Treasure in the Closet” and another: “Hawthorn Fires.”

* * * *


Where the hell is Chitina? aka Fishin’ the Copper River for Reds

* * * *


Every pass of the plow blade in this rich river-bottom farmland turned a stone.

The cobbles broke the spikes on the harrow, the tines on the rake.

They bent the backs of the farmer, his wife and son.

All over the valley, cairns of cobbles dotted the fields; furrows swerving ’round.

Enough stones for fences, houses, barns, churches, schools, grave markers,

Hauled by horse and wagon, stacked by masons and sweat.

But the farmer’s heart was broke by then, cracked by grief, loss. 

Unmarked graves of cobblestones covered his wife and newborn child. 

Pressed into the silty earth of this river-bottom farmland by father and son.

But time could not erase the pain, conceal the loss, dry the tears.

The fields lie fallow, season after season until a third unmarked grave,

Covered with cobbles, pressed by the son’s hands who then left to grieve, alone.

* * * *

“Gopher Mounds and Pissin’ Around” pdf:

#4 Gopher Mounds and Pissin’ Around 03:14

* * * *

“A Treasure of Shirts”

A closet holds a treasure.

What wealth there be amidst the shirts and pants.

You think not?

I say,

A person’s essence is more often shed into his clothes,

Than worn in real life.

Now amidst clearing and cleansing in life,

I discard the clothing that no longer fits my essence.

My closet is near empty. I wear comfort at last.

* *  * *

“Hawthorn Fires”

Certain trees,

Draw up the flames

Embraced at Imbolc.

They anchor the energy

About to emerge

Pulsing with potential.

They don’t want your approach

Unless absolutely aware

Of the consequences.

Such is the hawthorn,

Steeped in Faery lore,

Bound to a world in-between.

We will be asked

To step forward

And feel its thorny grace.

Among those aware

The world remains

The same.

To those that scoff

The world remains

The same.


And from that perspective

The world can’t stay the same.

* *  * *

Let me know how you like Leanin’ on the Yang Side!

Until next time, Happy Weavings!


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