Who Has Landed On Your Roof Today?

This coming July will mark a decade since I began my Kingfisher Journey blog. In my first post, “My Halcyon Quest,” I launched with these words:

“The end of June marked the beginning of a roving naturalist life. I don’t live in a house anymore. My home is my truck I’ve dubbed “Alcyon” in honor of my favorite bird, the belted kingfisher (Megaceryle alcyon). On my green Tacoma pickup truck is my Fourwheelcamper popup.”

I wasn’t sure how long I would wander. My son Ian (then just graduating from high school) gave me a red mag-lite flashlight as a bon voyage gift, telling me it could serve a double purpose as a light and a weapon if I needed to defend myself. (I never have). I did keep some belongings in storage in Missoula, but I felt light and unencumbered. Turning off the news, I tuned into nature.

Today, I’m curious looking back at what might stand out from those early entries. I’ve decided to pick random lines and put them together. They might be poems, koans, or drifting feathers falling from the stars. All I know is in the returning to the beginning of Kingfisher Journey, I find a renewing and yes–a wee bit of desire to be exploring for days on end.

I feel like I’m on a ship
listing permanently
to one side.

The hummingbird lands
not on a living branch
but on a dead pinyon
spire to see better.

She leaned in,
her long gold curly hair
flowing outwards
from the tree.

When a red-shafted flicker
spread his wing to preen,
the fiery feathers matched
the fire of the red rocks.

I have a crush on adobe
garnished with turquoise.

By inhabiting Marina,
I’m flowing over the falls,
down the rivers into the sea
to be pulled by the tides
of the full moon
so bright in the sky
tonight.

Alone, I walked up the trail
to cliff dwellings, placing my hand
on the cool morning
sandstone, listening
to canyon wrens
and the croak
of a raven.

At my back is retreat
from heat and danger.
At my front?
The world unfolds
at the height
of a soaring bird.

The Prairie Chicken house squats
among overgrown shrubs,
as ignored and as forgotten
as the plains.

Life offers both —
the maze and the spiral.

I kept on skimming
like the kingfisher I revere.

Light filtered through the trees
to illuminate huckleberry leaves
flaming with fall colors.

I begin to see all that is circular
the round bowl of the cerulean sky,
the frothing bubbles in the headlong creek,
the globes of white snowberries.

Rocking on the sea, wrapped in kelp,
sea otters float on their backs.
They raise a flipper, nuzzle and ride
the rollers. They twine kelp
around their bodies
to stay in place.

All I wanted to do was to feel
the unwinding, softening
and soothing waters.

When my day starts with a 4 a.m. beach walk
under the waning moon that casts silver light
on breaking waves, anything and everything
seems possible.

Here I am drawn into the forest life
to a place where thoughts drift away entirely
until I’m cleansed and at last can slip
into the embrace of trees.

As a writer, I have to
dare myself to race at the end,
dare myself to be brilliant,
dare myself to open my arms wide,
lift them as I break the ribbon,
and hold my head high.