Weekly Photo Challenge: Half and Half
Author Archives: Maggie C
In Search of Wild Horses
I wrote this poem a couple of summers ago, about a weekend trip to the Ochoco forest in central Oregon. A beautiful, unforgettable experience with wonderful people and stunning scenery.
On Friday we set out in search of wild horses.
leaving the city with all its frenzy,
eager to begin our wilderness adventure.
We crossed sparkling rivers and overgrown creeks,
and saw wild rhododendrons
sprawling in the shade along the wooded roadside.
We found a stream bank that would make a great watering spot,
but alas, we saw no wild horses.
On Saturday we set out in search of wild horses.
We watched ospreys diving for lake trout.
We hiked steep mountain trails,
pausing to admire the grandeur of snow-capped peaks
and the delicateness of wildflowers
swaying in the gentle breezes.
We saw hoof prints in the soft forest floor,
but alas, we saw no wild horses.
On Sunday we set out in search of wild horses.
We enjoyed the scent of pine trees and lilacs,
watched lizards scurrying down rough-barked junipers,
and climbed hills to discover what lies beyond.
We marveled at piles of sun-hardened manure
scattered amongst the trees by our elusive prey.
We saw grass trails bent down where they may have passed by,
but alas, we saw no wild horses.
On Monday we set out for home.
En route we passed the Painted Hills that
undulate in shades of rose and verdigris and taupe and ochre.
We saw weathered barns sagging wearily in the fields,
antelope grazing in a verdant pasture,
and watched a man feed ice cream to his dogs.
We basked in our weekend revitalization.
And, by the way, we saw wild horses.
Half-Light
nature’s Midas touch renews each dawn rendering night’s shadows to gold
Weekly Photo Challenge: Half and Half
Haiku Nine ~ Serenity
Wordless Wednesday 7.15.15
Haiku Eight ~ Summer’s Bounty
Symbolism Aflame ~ Three Haiku
tenuous flame clings to woven hope lest it drown in the molten sea
staving off darkness one brief flicker at a time your candle lights mine
I will light your way I will make your shadows dance you will feed the flame
Weekly Photo Challenge: Symbol
A Symbol by Any Other Name
“As a child, I always knew it was springtime when I opened my bedroom window and caught the subtle, heartwarming aroma of the season’s first blossoms wafting across the swamplands of home. Yep, if the skunk cabbage was blooming, summer was just around the corner.”
If you were to ask me my favorite flower, I might tell you it is the Lysichiton americanus. But that would be far too pretentious. You know that whole “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet” line? A Lysichiton americanus, by its other name, smells like… well, like its namesake.
“Skunk cabbage” didn’t get its name from any black-and-white striped color scheme. It’s named for its distinctive “skunky” odor. So am I joking that it’s my favorite flower? Nope.
Growing up in a “wetland” area (formerly known as a swamp), the smell of skunk cabbage was indeed a harbinger of spring, which meant warmer weather and maybe just a tad less rain. Or maybe it meant warmer rain and a tad less weather. I forget.
But the symbolism of the skunk cabbage doesn’t just stop at being a seasonal reminder. Despite its stinky name, the plant is quite beautiful. Large, lush green leaves, bright yellow flowers. It livens even the fustiest of swamplands. And it does so by rising regally out of its surrounding mud and mire.
Somehow I find that inspiring. More so than a hothouse rose or a pampered orchid. It is raw no-fuss nature at its best. Simple beauty despite its odoriferous moniker. To me it symbolizes dignity, poise – maybe even grace – while amidst the muck of worldly living.
So, come Mother’s Day or my birthday or any other day one might be compelled to send me a bouquet of flowers, let it be roses. Come on, you didn’t expect me to say skunk cabbage, did you? Symbolism only goes so far.
Weekly Photo Challenge: Symbol
Wordless Wednesday 7.8.15
Coming to my Senses: Touch
About five days into a summer cold and partway through my evening meal, it dawned on me that I couldn’t taste or smell the food I was eating. I was too congested from the cold. How long, I wondered, had I been impaired in those senses without even noticing?
I began to think about how I really take my five senses for granted, and I decided to try focusing on one sense for an entire day and see what I noticed that I may have otherwise missed. I chose the sense of touch since it wasn’t being effected by the cold.
I think of all the senses, touch would be the most dangerous one to lose. Feeling pain helps me pull away from potential harm, helps me realize that I need to realign my back when I am sitting improperly, helps me enjoy my pets, and helps me connect with others. Just for starters.
Here are some observations from my day:

Feeling the spiral wiring on my notebook, the ridges caused by my pen on pages I have used, the smoothness of clean pages waiting to be used, all adds to the pleasure of writing my daily journal entries.

Parched? Waterlogged? I talk to my plants on occasion, but so far they have suffered my neglect in silence. If the brown leaves aren’t a “dead” giveaway, I can feel the soil’s saturation level to determine their needs.

Petting my soft cat is comforting and pleasurable. Plus I can catch him when he tries to use my leg as a scratching post.

I discover sooner rather than later when I should scream and do the get-that-creepy-thing-off-me dance.
It’s been an interesting experience to focus on the sensation of touch. I’ve decided to try this with each of my five senses (maybe even my sixth sense). Stay tuned!



















