Blank Pages Virtual Salon April 18, 2020

4/17/2020

Blank Pages Virtual Salon April 18, 2020

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Welcome to the Blank Pages Virtual Salon!

Submit and respond from Saturday April 18th to Midnight Sunday April 19th

Given the continued constraints regarding social gatherings and interaction, we’re once again moving this show to the Blog with a prompt. We’re thinking about the world coming alive and this gorgeous spring we're experiencing (some of us through a window), and what nature means to us individually.

Here's your prompt: What element of nature would you choose as an emblem for yourself?

Enter your responses in the Comments section in any fashion you like: a poem, a stream of consciousness riff, a piece of flash fiction, an essay, etc. And don't forget to respond to your fellow writers—this is a conversation.

The Virtual Salon is Asynchronous, meaning we won't all be present at the same time. Come back over the course of the next day-and-a-half and read and respond to the ongoing conversation.

46 Comments

Karen Jost

4/18/2020 03:38:32 pm

I would choose optimism as the element of nature emblematic of myself. Not to say that I am always optimistic, but it is a quality to which I aspire. I believe it requires optimism to keep coming back the way nature inevitably does. Optimism and resilience. I am looking at my garden in particular, which until a few days ago looked lifeless. Now there are bits of green poking through the dry foliage and I am reminded of the way nature, without any interference or assistance from me, seems to prevail.

Mike Cooper

4/19/2020 07:25:21 pm

and dandelions!

TOM FILCICH

4/18/2020 05:33:17 pm

THE <<FOX RINGS BELL.
HOW SO>>?
IN ARMY, DECADES AGO
IN THE < SIXTY'S I HAD A FLARE
TO DISAPPEAR IN MIDEST OF AIR.....
MY OTHER <PRIVATES WHO DIDN'T HAVE THE FLARE
ADMIRED ME AND NAMED ME THAT.
THESE WERE SOMETIMES FOR A ,M
OR AT TIMES , RIGHT COULD HAPPEN IN THE P.M.
NEVER A DAY OR MORE
THE SARGENT WOULD BE SORE.
SO, COME 60 YEARS LATER
AND I STILL CAN DO THAT IN MY < 80'S>
HOWEVER, NOW IT IS MY RIGHT, IN MY <80'S >
TOM FILCICH

Mike Cooper

4/19/2020 07:26:14 pm

the Silver Fox!

Karen Jost

4/18/2020 06:17:19 pm

(Sorry. I accidentally took myself off the web and had to resubmit)

Cat

4/18/2020 06:51:32 pm

I'm weed whacking. Something that generally doesn't happen in my world, partly because it's boring and seems pointless and is loud and uses power that could better be diverted into something useful like providing light inside the cabin later in the fall when its cold and the days are getting shorter. And yet, there I am. And there is a point, I guess, because it's better to keep the grass away from the electric bear fence since a gust of wind might blow a blade onto the fragile wire mesh and create a short, allowing curious bears to trundle into the zone next to the cabin, and waking to the sound of a bear breaking one of the windows would not be my preference, now, later, ever.

I make my way round the perimeter, concentrating on the grass, on the ground, in the overcast Alaskan afternoon, ear protection separating me from one of my senses, my sunglasses dulling another. I can smell severed strands of beach grass and sedge, the heavy wand bounces in my arms, muscles and joints cushioning the action. It jangles my nerves.

I'm relieved to end this task, yet again, for another week or two, and cradling the device in my left hand, lever the power switch off. It's suddenly quiet enough to hear the surf driving the rising tide just beyond a thin veil of 200' tall white spruce, and I raise my eyes to a large cinnamon form standing 10 feet away, completely still, serenely silent, watching me.

I am in agreement, I nod back. This is a stupid activity, after all, yet another human convention to attempt separation from the natural world. The bear only observes, brown eyes softly blinking, until it tires of me, drops it's front paws to the ground with a thud and strolls back into the dark and waiting woods.

Nicole Harris

4/19/2020 12:45:33 pm

This is a beautiful juxtaposition between nature and progress. It is true how often we try to "tame" nature into what we want when all we need to do is let it in.

Cat

4/19/2020 07:14:49 pm

Thanks for that, Nicole, and I, obviously, agree. :-)

Cat

4/19/2020 07:46:56 pm

agree about trying to tame nature, that is...

Mary link

4/19/2020 04:11:27 pm

I love this."a large cinnamon form standing. . . serenely silent, watching me."
Paints more than a beautiful picture. IT's a 3-D diorama complete with emotional resonance.

Cat

4/19/2020 07:16:16 pm

Mary, Thank you. I appreciate the lovely feedback.

Siobhan Sullivan link

4/19/2020 07:09:59 pm

I liked the way you showed how you were cut off from some of your senses. It made the surprise meeting with the bear much more believable.

Cat

4/19/2020 07:22:41 pm

Oh yeah. Absolutely. Thanks for the feedback.

Mike Cooper

4/19/2020 07:29:05 pm

My father was a bear.

Cat

4/19/2020 07:42:19 pm

Oh yeah! If it wasn't all over the tabloids I would have forgotten that,

Dana

4/18/2020 07:26:59 pm

I'm aware of the air in my breath. The fresh breath outdoors.The stillness of air. Clouds hanging. The silence. Listen to my breath.

Mike Cooper

4/19/2020 07:30:20 pm

Isn't the air amazing? So clean. Especially lately.

Nickole

4/18/2020 08:09:12 pm

Salt and Shadow

I’m lurking on the beach, watching without eyes. I slide across the sand with soundless precision. I can just reach the corner of the towel to wet the end. The occupant doesn’t move, doesn’t even realize I am there. He’s passed out in a coconut-oil comma while his skin fries into a crispy brown. These are the games I like to play.
For millennia, I had no one to entertain me, but in a sudden flash of evolution suddenly thousands of humans occupy the beach. They are soft and exposed, nothing like the natural fauna who live here. How easy it is to trick them. They are mesmerized by the gloss of my waves, lulled by the rhythm of my undercurrent. Oh beware. That is what the sign warns, but nobody heeds the warning. I am a gentle giant, come and frolic in my waves.
The toes twitch. It is a sign he will wake soon, but I have other plans. I swell, pulling every drop of water off the sand and tucking it under me. I grow, each drop feeding my height. The tower of water hovers, casting a long shadow over the unsuspecting human. A drop of water spills onto his exposed back, sizzling from the heat. The dark shades slip from his face as his mouth drops open. And then, I strike.

Mary link

4/19/2020 04:17:01 pm

Wow! "coconut-oil coma" "humans . . . soft and exposed" "pulling every drop of water off the sand and tucking it under me"
You are definitely in your 'element' Nickole

Mike Cooper

4/19/2020 07:31:49 pm

Ditto on "Coconut oil coma." Takes me back.

Siobhan Sullivan link

4/19/2020 07:13:21 pm

I liked the line about sliding "across the sand with soundless precision." Nice!

Cat

4/19/2020 07:18:56 pm

yes, me too. beautiful.

Randy W.

4/18/2020 08:13:14 pm

A tree.

A tree lives around 115 times longer than a human.

Generally, a tree is not a lonely, solitary figure. It’s a very social and communicative living item. Trees even have a sense of smell and taste. Trees are not good with isolation and don’t live nearly as long as their counterparts in forests.

Trees are stoic. They provide a home and a source of food for many in the animal and insect kingdom. Trees patiently watch as the earth and its inhabitants change from single cell organisms to monstrous dinosaurs to destructive humans. Eventually the trees will witness a return to a more peaceful, natural existence without human beings.

A tree is an observer. If it could share the stories it has witnessed what a book that would be... chiseled in stone.

Cat

4/19/2020 07:20:34 pm

Uniquely interesting, Thanks Randy.

Mike Cooper

4/19/2020 07:32:39 pm

I like the juxtaposition of a tree writing a book.

Mike Cooper

4/19/2020 07:33:06 pm

(because of paper)

Suzy Beal

4/19/2020 09:03:05 am

Seeds

Yesterday as I counted out my beet seeds, one, two, three, four, up to sixteen per row, I thought of the hope that comes with each seed. Row one, two, three, and four, up to eight rows of sixteen seeds in each row, one hundred twenty-eight possibilities should be enough for the two of us.

There was a time when we didn’t have so many possibilities.

Seeds of fear - I was visiting Robert at his office one afternoon just after Christmas of 2003. The telephone rang. He picked up the phone to find out it was the clinic responding to a biopsy of his prostate. His doctor had told him he had an enlarged prostate, but he’d felt hundreds of these a week and his (Robert’s) had no problems. He guaranteed it. Wrong! The biopsy showed cancer. Could we come to the doctor’s office this afternoon? Not only did he have cancer, it was a serious, fast growing cancer.

Seeds of radiation - The urology doctor implanted seeds of radiation to hold the cancer in check while we made our decision about what to do. After giving us the five possible treatments he told us what he thought Robert should do. A complete prostatectomy was his diagnosis.
He told us to not wait more than a month before having surgery or starting any of the other treatments. How could this be happening? The air suddenly seems too thick to breathe.

Seeds of anger - Slammed into a wall, anger, disbelief, nausea, pain. Tears ran down our faces as the doctor described what we were facing. Just let us out of here. Back in our car we held each other crying, trying to support each other, not knowing if we had a future.

Seeds of love - We immediately drove to visit our daughters in their homes. Lucky for us they both lived here in the same town. More tears and anger, but we were filled with love, concern, acceptance, and the power to move forward.

Seeds of learning - We had a decision to make. Now we needed to learn how to proceed. Robert got a second opinion from his personal doctor who recommended the complete prostatectomy. He said at Robert’s age of fifty nine he should recover well, and that he shouldn’t wait too long before having it done. We talked with other friends who had had the surgery and some who had made other choices of treatments. Some said they had lost the ability to have sex. Sex, who cares about sex? I just want Robert! Some said they lost the ability to urinate while one said he could now pee like a race horse.

Seeds of doubt - How can we do this? A decision almost too huge to make. We researched, we wept, we held each other and faced the decision and made it. The choice, a complete prostatectomy, with surgery to be in one month’s time. They told us that mid-way through the surgery the lab would do a biopsy on the lymph nodes, to see if there was cancer there. If so, they would not proceed with the removal of the prostate. If there was no cancer in the lymph nodes, then they would remove the prostate and that would be the end of the cancer. I have to get hold of myself and keep my mind on our present. Being in the present is such hard work. Doubt steps in at every turn.

Seeds of hope - Decision made. Hope becomes the daily mantra. Trying not to think of any alternative, but a successful surgery. The mind keeps wandering to the dark side. Will we have a future? How can we face a cancer prognosis? Together always together. We go about our day without talking about IT knowing the other is thinking about IT. There isn’t anything to say which will bring comfort. We must just wait and be patient with each other and with time.

Seeds of joy - I waited in the waiting room with our daughters trying to show calm. Attempting to be brave, trying not to cry, but we did. We held each other, and we waited. The nurse came in half way through the surgery. No cancer in the lymph nodes! We yelled, we laughed, we cried and with smiles plastered on our faces we waited.

Seeds of recovery - It took a year before Robert came back into himself. He was tired most of the time, but grateful. We walked the beaches of the Oregon coast and watched the sunsets; we listened to music, and we healed.

Seeds of conception - At the end of that year we received the news we were to be grandparents. Our lives were full.

Seeds of gratitude - This spring as our eleven-year-old granddaughter plants beans alongside of us as we go down the rows, we smile at each other knowing we have already harvested our best crop.

Mary link

4/19/2020 04:22:13 pm

I especially love the structure of this piece. Beautiful

Siobhan Sullivan link

4/19/2020 07:19:58 pm

This piece is like a plant starting from a seed, struggling to survive, then healing to produce a fruitful life. Beautiful!

Mike Cooper

4/19/2020 07:34:36 pm

Nice, Suzy!

Cat

4/19/2020 09:59:48 am

Thanks all! I'm really enjoying reading everyones entries. So many different takes, styles...

Siobhan Sullivan link

4/19/2020 12:13:11 pm

Blue jays were the first creatures to speak to me as a young child. I collected armfuls of low-hanging branches on our weeping willow tree and tried to launch myself into the sky to join them. Their raucous laughter at my attempts filled the air.

They could show moments of quiet and concern. I remember one flying into our window with a thud. I cradled the stunned bird in my hands and encouraged it to take to the skies. Its mate perched nearby, regarding me with inquisitive eyes. When the injured bird fluttered away, she thanked me with piercing calls.

Our family often went on camping trips and another jay visited our campsites. The Canada jay did not have the other jay’s intense blue colors. Its gray shades blended in with stormy skies. My parents called them “camp robbers” and told us not to feed them. When they weren’t looking, I would sneak away with a handful of crumbs.

I would stand still, hold up a hand, and make a clicking sound, calling them to me. They called in harsh chatters before alighting on my hand. The jays pecked a few crumbs and flew away, singing a whisper song of thanks.

When I moved to the wet side of the mountains in the Pacific Northwest, Steller’s jays joined me. These jays have deep blue bodies topped with black head crests. They are always in motion. They knocked seeds out of our small bird feeder so they could get to them easier. When I tried to chase them away, the jays bragged of their accomplishments with gurgles and whistles of delight.

We planted corn in our garden one year. First, we planted the kernels in a garden tray and nurtured them inside until they were a few inches tall. On a warm spring day, we transferred them to the garden. We could hear the nasal calls of Steller’s jays in the forest near the garden.

We walked towards the house, and I heard the calls of flickers. I turned to get a better look, and the jays swooped into the garden and picked each kernel off the corn plants. They imitated the call of flickers to throw us off the track, but we caught the actual culprits. The corn plants did not survive.

Many years ago I worked in the High Desert, but an unfamiliar jay surprised me when we were shopping for a place to live here. This bird didn’t have a crest. Its gray and blue colors blended in with clear days and stormy ones. What was it? A California scrub-jay. Jays had followed me once again.

The scrub-jays are common in my yard. They flit from branch to branch on the juniper trees, always one step ahead of me on my walks. The jays warn me of dangerous creatures, but they sometimes sing to me in long melodic songs. They are my constant companions.

Yesterday I saw a new jay in my yard. I thought it was a bluebird at first since it was sky blue everywhere except for a patch of white under its lower beak. It called to me in a crow-like voice. I recognized it as a pinyon jay. These nomadic birds live in a variety of habitats, but I had never seen one in our sagebrush and juniper-covered yard.

The pinyon jay beckoned me to follow it. I spread my wings, as I had tried to do so many years before, and left the comfortable confines of my home. Our wings blend in with the contours of the sky.

Mary Krakow link

4/19/2020 04:26:55 pm

This is beautiful Siobhan. I'm only familiar with the Scrub Jay and the Stellar Jay. I'll have to keep my eyes open for the Pinyon Jay

Siobhan Sullivan link

4/19/2020 07:32:51 pm

Thanks, Mary. I have only seen one pinyon jay in my yard in all the years I have lived here.

Cat

4/19/2020 07:29:30 pm

I like this very much. Thanks for sharing it.

Mike Cooper

4/19/2020 07:36:45 pm

Nice, Siobhan. We have a blue jay that doesn't quite fit on our bird-feeder, but that doesn't stop it.

Janine

4/19/2020 03:47:46 pm

Gravity.

Gravity keeps my feet on the ground in a gentle fashion. It allows me to pick up one foot and hover forward above the earth to advance while the other stays aground lest I drift away. It keeps my seat in the chair or my body in the bed that I might luxuriate at my own business while it keeps watch..

Gravity is on the job while I sit in the Audi racing down the road. Without a thought or care the car takes me wherever I chose to go provided I do my part of providing fuel and oil. Gravity continues to do its part.

Gravity holds everything in its place, mostly. I've come to depend on it, and I don't want to be found without it.

Mary link

4/19/2020 04:27:53 pm

So simple, yet so profound!

Mike Cooper

4/19/2020 07:37:57 pm

Imagine: a sudden loss of gravity.

Mary link

4/19/2020 04:30:57 pm

Water.

Sometimes cool and wet. Sometimes hard and cold. Impossible to capture in your hands. Changeable. Necessary. Pliable, or is that malleable? Always changing, subject to the influence of temperature, wind, time, thirst.

Strong. Gentle. Musical. Coaxing. Powerful enough to lift a thousand ships, yet sensible enough to always find its own level.

Water.

Siobhan Sullivan link

4/19/2020 07:26:38 pm

You gave water a strong and powerful presence in this piece.

Mike Cooper

4/19/2020 07:39:33 pm

CH 78 Tao Teh Ching:
Under heaven nothing is more soft and yielding than water.
Yet for attacking the solid and strong, nothing is better;
It has no equal.

Mike Cooper

4/20/2020 10:49:06 am

Thank you everyone for engaging in the Virtual Salon! It's great to read your works of art and I love the conversation. Hopefully soon we'll be able to get back to that big table at The Workhouse, who, by the way, could use your help and support during this time. If you'd like to donate, go to https://theworkhousebend.com/products/donate-to-the-workhouse

Moon Bukas link

4/21/2020 08:08:16 am

when the dandelions come
their middle finger stalks raise to
unlikely conditions to grow
dark and cold and snow

when the dandelions come
they take of the sun the birthright
take of the notion that the sun can be the sun
hungry, we are all frozed and
aching for a sign

Aching for the yellow diamonds
crushed in ice and planted in
cement who can tuck down in late snow
can tucker down under the lawnmower

soft little stones waiting near crabgrass roots for the grand finale
of the Annual Argument between Cold and Hot

Heros! of the Wheel
the yellow diamond signs
summer promise
yellow, bright

hello, sight color returns
push throughn dead grass, green grass, cement cracks, weedwack, Round up
push through on anyway past
human poisons and spread

claw out liver duct meat fat of the cold dark time
claw gall stones loose
claw concrete stone root

make us a fucking promise though it be unlikely
unlikely needs met for growing
grow anyway yellow diamond sun winks
unphased by late snow
deep in the know wheel turning

betcha didn't think we'd grow here
no dirt here no sun here we grow here
raise our middle finger stalks to
the void bc Life
live past little tittle seed sleeping on the nothing
bulldozed the bile ducts with last years roots
bulldoze the roots past cement to food
cement
food
muscle
claw
liver moshpit
one more time
summer promises
alive

Moon Bukas

4/21/2020 08:09:54 am

oh shoot. I thought I had a week to post this. sorry.

Kathryn Eng link

5/16/2020 07:22:42 pm

The tiny bed seemed both to swallow up the child-sized girl-woman, and oddly unable to contain her. She lay unapologetically open-mouthed in deep sleep, a small round face mostly obscured by a shock of dull, straight raven hair and short jagged bangs. Her limbs starfished out, as if at any moment she might wake and grasp the edges of the bed and force them to submit. Even in sleep her mouth was a sharp straight dash and her jaw a stony threat. She would never, ever let it happen again.

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Blank Pages Virtual Salon April 18, 2020

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