Static & moving prose
& poetry below::: 

Crows 

"The crows are acting strange today,"
I say & smile.
Just like yesterday,
& the day before,
& the day before,
& the day before.

Milk Creek Walk with Me 

                                            Thousands of years they laid there,
                                  their edges sharp
          despite the seasonal ebb & flood. 

Dappled sunlight filters through
the coniferous canopy of Douglas Fir branches extending, reaching
towards Ponderosa Pines & Oregon Oaks. Roots intertwine
underfoot, soil-soaked snakes slithering through once-flooded dirt,
down to water racing over jasper, agates, & arrowheads. 

                                             Flowing North then a sharp right
                          West to the Pacific. 

The creek bed holds more
than current-smoothed stones & remnants lost
on their way to the Willamette. 

Sacred space shared amongst friends, family, & soon-to-be’s
until another ceremonious eruption. Each year the pasture swells
with snow-melt & love. The evergreens and oaks bow with the willow, embracing
& absorbing family gatherings, astronaut baptisms, & union vows. 

                                                The ever expanding & undulating coil
                    of the Ouroboros surrounds & constricts,
                                                inexhaustible, immeasurable, & unending. 

Every new memory created
soaks & sinks into the grass & clay with the annual deluge, then blooms
& bursts each summer.