Lost
in thought
cool breeze whisks
daily burdens
billowing clouds dance
with cerulean skies
wide, empty shoreline
water-traced trails
breathe
in and out and in
balance
Found

The sea was moody today. Thick clouds kept the sun at bay and also kept people at home. That’s a good thing for me–there’s nothing better than an empty beach for walking and exploring.
I love the way the beach is ever changing. Some days the shore is smooth and sandy. Lately piles of smooth beach stones have been pushed up into my walking zone. Low tides, like today, expose stretches of reef, some pieces algae-covered in reds and greens. I’m always on the look out for interesting finds on the beach. Unfortunately, we often find trash on our walks. Pieces of plastic and styrofoam, leftovers of foil wrapped burritos, and all too often straws of all shapes and sizes.
Today I noticed a glow stick on the reef. I know that fisherman often use these as part of their fishing routine, although I’m not sure exactly the purpose. I stopped to capture a photo and then we picked it up to throw away. (Lucky for our local environment, my husband always carries a trash bag when we walk on the beach.)

Next up was the shoe. Just one. Alone. It hadn’t been in the sea long enough to become a home for sea creatures, but it was soaked all the way through with sand inside. I wonder who lost this shoe and when they noticed it was missing. Does this child still have the other shoe tossed in the back of the closet?

Then I noticed the long white structure. Was it trash? No, seems like a bone. A closer examination made me believe that it is the remain of a pelican beak, long and thin and about the right size, washed up onto the shore. This piece we did not pick up–seems best to let it decompose and return to its native environment.

As I was documenting these finds with my camera, I was thinking about that term: flotsam and jetsam. Is one type of debris flotsam and another type jetsam? I turned to Google to check out the definitions. I learned that in maritime lingo, flotsam is wreckage of cargo that remains afloat after a ship has sunk and that jetsam is cargo or equipment thrown overboard from a ship in distress. I also learned that the phrase flotsam and jetsam has come to mean useless or discarded items. So I’m categorizing the glow stick and the shoe as flotsam and jetsam. The beak bone, just ordinary bird remains.
But what about this?

It seems that Shamus and Marisol decided to create some art on these beach boulders. It makes me wonder, did they bring paint to the beach with the idea that they would use beach rocks as a canvas? Was it made with water-based paint that will dissolve into the sea during the next high tide? Did they make it for their own enjoyment or for others to see? Or is it a call for help? (Notice the S.O.S.) Temporary art is common on the beach, there are sand artists who rake intricate designs into the sandy shore. There are rock tower builders, carefully balancing stone after stone after stone. And of course, the sand castle builders who create turrets and moats on castles adorned by seaweed and shells. All pieces meant to last only until the next tide sweeps it away.
I always leave the beach with questions and something to think about. And I always learn something. Regardless of its mood, the sea and the beach is never dull.
Where I live weather casters have to work at nuance. So many days are mostly sunny, sometimes accompanied by night and morning low clouds. And this year, like so many years, we are in a drought, inches away from our whopping average rainfall of 10 inches per year.
When I hear a forecast for rain, skepticism is my first reaction. It isn’t uncommon for for a rainy day prediction to fizzle and disappear, replaced by that that little sunshine icon. And this morning, the sun rose like clockwork, making me doubt the rain I heard about…and even planned for today.
Today was my vaccination day (yay!), so I was careful to dress in short sleeves to make the process easier. But, it was also supposed to rain, so I layered on a sweatshirt and remembered to grab my raincoat as I dashed out the door for work. To the east some patches of stringy clouds were visible–they didn’t look rain bearing to me. When I turned west, I could see the rainclouds gathering along the coast.
After my Zoom meeting with my class, I grabbed that raincoat again and headed off to our local fairgrounds-turned-vaccination-supercenter. I wasn’t sure how the whole thing would work, would I need to walk up and stand in line? Would they tell me they had run out of doses just as I arrived at the front even though I had an appointment? Would I end up standing in the rain?
None of my worst fears came true. I drove into the orange cone maze and made my way around and into the big barn where I’ve looked at livestock during the county fair. My credentials were checked, my arm offered, and my first dose was injected without me ever leaving my car. I proceeded to the waiting area for 15 minutes, and water drops began to fall on my windshield.
Back in my classroom, the rhythms of rain were the soundtrack for today’s planning and preparation. Light drops punctuated with heavier showers. I could see the trees swaying, dancing in time to the rain, through the classroom windows.
When I got home I realized I hadn’t taken a photo today. I grabbed my umbrella (the rain was heavier by then) and wandered around the backyard, looking for a shot that would express the feeling of rain. I remembered how hard it is to capture rain in a photo (something I don’t get to practice too often). I tried to avoid the big pools on the patio and the muddy spots beyond as I explored, noticing how the plants seemed to be reaching out and welcoming the rare sky drops.
Today was a perfect rainy day. I’m ready for sun tomorrow.

My daily walk to the mailbox is generally uneventful. I follow the sidewalk down the hill, past the five or six houses that look similar to my own. I notice the groomed lawns, the xeriscaped designs where lawns once grew, those miniature citrus trees. And today, I noticed the tall thin palm dancing in the breeze.

Inspired by the National Writing Project post, Writing In with #WriteOut, I wrote a Poet-Tree #smallpoem today.
Tree Dance
Against the azure sky
the lone palm dances
solo
slowly swaying
graceful fronds stretched wide
brushing the clouds
to the shush
of spring’s song
®Douillard
A couple of days ago, one of our team members posted an invitation to write a “waterfall” poem on our SDAWPoetry padlet. And then I read a piece written by a fellow blogger, Margaret Simon, about writing a poem using only one syllable words. Somehow those two different approaches merged in my brain as I thought about the many, many walks I have taken around my neighborhood. I thought about how those walks do not flow. I thought about the staccato steps taken over and over again. For my eyes and brain, it is like watching an endless loop with the same view repeated over and over again.

So I tried to capture my walks in a single syllable waterfall poem…the waterfall, I fear, has slowed to a trickle…dripping over the edge, syllable by syllable.
Just Walk
Walk
one foot
in front
of the next
up
the street
down
the street
same
steps
don’t stop
just step
look
step
watch
wave
nod
stay there
six feet
not
too close
don’t cough
or
sneeze
mask up
just walk
breathe
in
and out
find joy
in the small
live small
stay close
stay safe
keep
sane
just
walk
®Douillard

I do try to mix things up from time to time, walk my route in reverse, try a new street, walk on the other side of the street…and of course search for new photography possibilities. If only these lizards would stay still and pose!
Today we held our SDAWP Summer Institute pre-institute day…virtually. And as part of our time together, we wrote some poetry. And yeah…another dandelion poem emerged from my pen. But honestly, I’m putting this out as today’s poem-a-day entry. I’m just too tired from an over-the-top busy week to write another tonight.

What kinds of poetry pours from your pen these days?
How is it that time both stands still and seems on permanent fast forward at the same time? And in this warped dimension, I am looking for poems while also stuck in my house, my yard, my neighborhood. I’m trying to figure out where poems hide.

My latest photographic endeavor is trying to uncover which stray weed or bedraggled plant in my backyard will make an interesting photograph. Combine these two unexpected and yet enduring constraints…and here is what you get:
Where Poems Hide
This ordinary weed conjures magic.
Get close. When you do
you will discover
worlds
where miniature feathered fairy umbrellas
float
drifting along unmapped pathways
on invisible air currents
landing in cracks
on walls
in sidewalks
between mineral crusted rocks
on thick carpets of carefully groomed lawns
waiting for nature’s elixir
dew drops
raindrops
sprinkler drops
to set off the chain reaction
Sturdy stems root in
toes grabbing hold
standing firm
against weather
and weed whips
until a riot of sunburst yellow
explodes
polka dotting
unsuspecting landscapes
This is the place where poems blossom
hiding behind petals
floating on a child’s breath
listen closely
you’ll hear
the poetry of the
dandelion
®Douillard

Today’s poem is an etheree. It is a poem that grows from one syllable to 10, and in this case, inspired by power lines I noticed overhead.
Notice the Mundane
Wires
Above
Lines stretched high
Against the sky
Electricity
Depending on power
Invisible, essential
Ordinary infrastructure
Not taking in what is right above
Look up, look again, notice the mundane
®Douillard

In these parts we’re known for being fickle about the weather. We want some–until we have it–and then we complain that it arrived. A heavy downpour delayed my walk this morning, but also inspired me later, when the sun peeked from behind the clouds so I could head out into the backyard in search of water drop photos…and a poem.

The mentor poem I left for my students today was Pencils by Barbara Esbensen. We studied this poem earlier in the year and I wrote about it here. And here are some examples of their poems as videos written in October.
Midway through our spring break, I haven’t seen what my students have come up with as they encountered this poem again. But I am looking forward to seeing their writing as their poetic skills continue to evolve.
So with raindrops on my mind, I wrote again with Pencils as my mentor text.
Raindrops
The rooms in a raindrop
are round
filled with reverses
upside downs
mirror image
reflections
of the world outside
In a raindrop
molecules hold hands
gripping tightly
to the moisture within
How do they balance
on the tip of a leaf?
Who wipes their tears
when they fall?
From a drop of water
gardens of color emerge
blossoming into stories
of hope and possibility
Raindrops, teardrops, skydrops
wash down the page
blurring and
brightening
making space
for new beginnings
®Douillard

After being stranded indoors all day yesterday, I couldn’t wait to head out this morning between the raindrops for a neighborhood walk. As I walked I was thinking about the National Writing Project invitation to create a found poem to share this week. Only minutes into my walk I started to notice words and phrases, I collected them via my phone camera and compiled them into a found poem when I arrived home (only slightly dampened by the next round of showers).
When I showed it to my husband, he immediately asked, “How do you read this?” wondering if there was a right order to follow the words. I ask each reader to find their own path, read your own meaning into this text. And maybe, you’ll also consider creating your own found poem (with photos or not).
