Listen, La Nina

Fishermen in Peru contemplate La Nina as the Indian Ocean cools, globe’s warming from wicked practices. Keeps poor folks at risk and the poorest in  stranglehold for survival.

Nearly November with little rain. Premature plantings. Cracked clay earth.  Minimal preceipitation requires strategizing.   Cracking leaves under sheets of the mattress store’s throwaway plastic gives them a head start for mulching.  Neighbors are providing kitchen wastes for composting. With this I’m amending areas – prepping and priming them for more food production.

I can and do walk around and around this spot of land. With each round,  noticing more miniscule nuances. And when sitting, since the deer fence went in, each micro-ecosystem is calculated anew. Cut this and that branch, list plants to propagate as barriers & protectors & resistors for the deer’s side of the fence.   When the big earthquake comes, this neighborhood will have salads and cruciferous-ies.  If anything needs cooking, Franco’s pizza oven will be intact. If there are fires, we meet at 4 corners  and then up the other side of windy hill. I need to keep a container of cat food in my car.   I need to know how to shut off the fragile folks’ gas lines.

The last little 3.8 jolt punctuated Bamuthi’s performance and he didn’t skip a beat. Since experiencing  rbGb, (http://mappinternational.org/programs/view/214/) there is a persistent little ghost voice following me around the garden: “You can’t just be pretty, you have to put out”.  So the collections of water from sink and shower are reserved for the flora princesses that keep things sultry, luring pollinators and beneficial insects.

Listen, La Nina, with your powers over sea and sky and land:

Some of us are trying to care for our whatever small spaces gentler, kindler, and sustainably. Some of us are OWSing. Some of us are spreading rbGb gospel. Some of us are already dehydrated. Some of us have already starved.  Those 1% that manufactured your conditions, Little Missy, feel only a twinge of your impact.  So, must you be so indiscriminating, so democratic?  Just asking.

Metathree

Nitakunywa maji tu.

Liquid as the creative process. Solid as self determination. Ice like isolation. Three shape shifting states of being.  Funell and fuse into each. When lost, follow the river. When lost, write until you find your way.

Our thirst instinct is essential for fluid balance. Balance is not static, it is stillness in motion and fluidity is being in the flow.

Just make something, anything. Its empowering.  In my 50’s, I’ve learned to handle the basics of power tools and sewing machines from the ’60’s. From here, I can’t imaging what I will be learning in my 60’s.

Back to water, yanvalou, spine waves. Sunday is diaspora dance day, feet grounding day, rhythm and flow day, think to hydrate day. Back to water, thirst sated. Water sings through us.

NaNoWriMo 10/4/11

From a promise, a weakling weekly inaugauration sparked by Karen Smith and Gloria Yamato’s 365 Haiku clan and Marvin K White’s cupcake tantalizer:

Last year’s half felled redwood is growing tufts. They are studded with sparkles from first decent seasonal rain. Succombed to ensconsing in nature. Although humanly hard wired to be paired, mated, partnered, with wires in a tangle crossing corpus callosum, a patch of land heals and holds.

Wars waged for water. Draughts’ miseries still seared in reenactments unbearable as useless witness. One oxygen, two hydrogen.  Atoms’ indecisions. Today is the first rain.

Precious and purifying, essential to life. Breathe in essences.  Hood up, pressed harvested seeds into earth. As ancient a ritual as right as rain.