Green

I almost walked right by it,
this perfect burst
of concentrated green.
Monochromatic, yet not.
No two leaves exactly alike.
Thank God for pockets
of verdant, fleeting beauty.

Karate Whiplash

My neck is so sore.
It hurts to breathe. Could it be
karate whiplash?

Brown Belt

Even more than the belt itself

I'm proud of having learned this:

If you make a mistake,

correct it quickly

and keep going.

Better to do the needful imperfectly

than to not do it at all,

or to call attention to your mistake.

And now

off to bed--

sore, exhausted

and content.

Anticipation

It's the day before.
I've got karate on my mind
and butterflies in my stomach.

Indian Summer

Our Indian summer continues...

Another hot, crackly day
and the house is an oven.
We suspend homework
for a few hours
and call off dinner
for time being
and race down to the beach.
The water is cool and refreshing
and we catch wave after low-tide, lazy wave
until the sun slides into the sea.

November Glass

gold November glass

one more wave, then another

the sun flares, then fades

Rest in Peace, Andy

Today was strange--midterm elections, of course, and then I found out that Andy Irons had died. It's a shock. I didn't know him personally, but he was a friend of some of my friends, and such a famous, gifted athlete that the entire surfing community is grieving. He reportedly had dengue fever but there was also talk of accidental drug overdose. I don't know what the medical examiner will find, but in any case, my heart goes out to his family and his wife. It's a tragedy.






a hot, windless day

voters are nervous, edgy

a champion is dead

All Saints Day

a great multitude

here, and on the other side

communion of saints

Halloween

We are family.


A skinny baby in a diaper and knee socks,


and Mike the Situation


from Jersey Shore.


Hall, of Hall and Oates,


and a Jetsons-era space girl


(that's me.)

Substitute Teacher

It's a dry, crackly, Santa Ana-winds kind of day,
the day before Halloween.
Even though I throw down my yoga mat
in its customary spot
and see the usual people,
it feels like anything could happen.

Enter the substitute.
This instructor isn't tiny and sinewy
like the others. She's tall and full-hipped;
broad-shouldered and smooth-bodied,
like a swimmer.
She's got braids on top of her head
and mushroom tattoos snaking around her ankles
and, smiling like a mild-mannered Viking milkmaid,
tells us that we will be doing one hundred pushups.