How we Count tombstones;

The graveyards of climate:

Like fishing,

where a scant few days are easy.


But mostly,

August’s forced languor

to some other eden,

Far from this nihlitude of sapped topographies,

Calls us down.

Now: the dusty dry interludes of impossible

Hell hole hermitages of heat.

Oh, Hell yeah!


And those cruel, cheating soft years.


Neah, the feint tries of Autumn:

Failed shadows of yesterday’s

Arguments over long drives

Through once watery green valleys

Where tiny creeks had life:

In those old memories we write about now,

And dream of,

Before the tiny earthquakes stir us,

From the empty, dark hour before dawn.


All this:

Left behind now.


If I could wish on a genie,

Just for this time:

Give me the geologies of water,

Grandma’s fountain,

once again.

Lost Coast Geology Walk

Fifteen mile round trip jaunt down the northern protion of the Lost Coast in the King Range wilderness.  Notable features: calm, sunny day with fog appearing at random and unannounced late in the afternoon – pod of whales – ultra twisted turbidite beds of the Franciscan Formation – tough walking on the boulder-strewn beach.  Click on photos below for highlights – one click for small size view, click again for full size view.