Sapphire Pool: The Bluest of BlueIf the rest of the world were cast in fifty shades of grey your color would be no less surprising than it is now.
The Thing
Today’s Daily Post topic: Masks Off We’re less than a week away from Halloween! If you had to design a costume that channeled your true, innermost self, what would that costume look like? Would you dare to wear it?
In my walks in the woods all alone I feel the Thing tug at by bones She is twisting and turning and wants to come out The animal within and she's no Eagle Scout. All my life I've been tame face covered with makeup and hair colored the same as the models on t.v. how boring how lame. But in the market when passing raw meat I feel her-- The Thing--- it's the blood that awakes her she wants a treat Her hair is greenish and her eyes glow yellow She knows not of neighbors or manners or of the play called Othello. But she knows how to pass through the woods and not make a sound her feet are quite hairy and so soft on the ground She knows not by thinking or study She knows by living and breathing and by smelling what's bloody. Don't make her mad-- The Thing-- and don't ask her to come out on Halloween. If you do you'll find out that she'll catch the creature that's lurking about in you. And together-- together--- you'll howl at the moon.
Move Over Evan Rachel Wood (ya piece of meat!)
Today’s post topic: Fourth Wall You get to spend a day inside your favorite movie. Tell us which one it is — and what happens to you while you’re there.
I couldn’t help but notice the “trending” news on my Facebook feed this morning. “Evan Rachel Wood reveals she ‘felt like meat’ during 2003 Vanity Fair cover shoot.” I have a little beef with this.
First of all, it was 2003. This is news….today???
Secondly, she is a piece of meat. After you’ve lived in Yellowstone for a while you realize that all animals will one day be nothing more than meat. But for now Wood is a piece of meat with a beautiful singing voice, and, I’m sure, emotions, feelings, and intelligence.
So now, I take you to a Douglas Fir tree in Yellowstone’s Northern Range. I am there and singing. You should always be singing in Yellowstone, especially when you’re alone. Other animals need to know where you are, lest you become just a piece of meat.
This is what I sound like:
The marmots run from their dens
the birds are disturbed
by this singing girl
who’s not quite of their world.
With yellow hair
and blue eyes
she makes believe to dance.
But no one is in her arms,
this girl is in a trance.
Thank you nose!
Today’s post topic: Circuitous Paths A stranger knocks on your door, asking for directions from your home to the closest gas station (or café, or library. Your pick!). Instead of the fastest and shortest route, give him/her the one involving the most fun detours.
It was summer and very hot. Our young black bear (just twenty months!) was venturing out on his own for the very first time. A million smells entered his nose and sank into the tiny folds of his nasal cavities. He could smell mother back at the big rock where she had nudged him away, the sage, a marmot in its den. But the smell that interested him most was the crisp, cool smell of running water.
He was a stranger at the door. His nose was giving him directions to a place he had yet traveled. Well, he thought, maybe once with mother, but it has rained too many times since. He decided it was time to start trusting his own instincts.
The water was not very far away, but bear could not see it or hear it. Instead he saw tall, sweet-smelling sage. And, if he stood on his hind legs, smooth boulders. Each boulder had a tree growing from its base. Bear followed his nose and it took him to the largest of the trees.
From one of the high branches of the tree, he heard a ruckus. And it smelled good. With ease he climbed up, up, up. A small nest held four tiny chicks. Their eyes had not yet opened and they were pink with newness.
Bear used his paw to scoop one of the birds. It squirmed and writhed and fell down, down, down. There it was very still. So, bear scooped the other three. At the base of the tree they were all four very still. He climbed down, smelled, and ate them.
Thank you nose!
The scent of water lingered in the air and bear followed it until something better came into smell. Bear had wandered into a small forest that followed a dried up stream. The shade felt good but his nose directed him to a small clearing.
There he found tall bushes with wide leaves. At the end of their stems were deep red berries. He could not only see the red, he could smell it. Using his long tongue and lips, he cleaned the bushes of their berries. Pit and all.
The heat of the sun began to burn into his skin through his BLACK fur, and bear decided it was time to listen to his nose. By now the water also smelled of fish and wet rocks. He was getting close, but his nose had one last adventure in store!
Between he and the water lie the long, flat, and black rock. He had seen it many times with his mother and knew of the animals that lived there. As he approached the rock, the animals, which were before quickly moving this way and that, came to a stop.
Smaller and even stranger animals come from of the bigger animals that lived on the long, flat, and black rock. Bear knew this. He saw the big animals open up and the smaller ones crawl out. Each one smelled so interesting.
He followed his nose on a path parallel to the long rock. The animals with the purple mother smelled a little like fire. The animals in the red (like the berries) mother smelled nothing like berries. They all stopped to look at him. But he didn’t have to look at them, and he didn’t care to. He was following his nose.
The most awful smell he had ever smelled came from the animals in a big mother. They were making a ruckus. Each one was holding up a small, black object. Bear didn’t know what this thing was, but he noticed that the animals did not seem interested in eating the thing in their hands. They just held them up to their heads in front of their eyes.
They must be trying to hide from me, he thought. How silly. I could smell these animals from the top of the big mountain, they smell so bad.
Bear could not know it. Would never know it. But the animals smelled of money and Subway.
He moved on and crossed the long rock, walked through more sage, and followed his nose down to the river’s edge. There he drank. The coolness of the water felt good on his paws. So he laid down. The current of the river tugged at him, but he kept hold of a root on the riverbank with one paw.
Bison Calf
Today’s post topic: Reverse Shot What’s your earliest memory involving another person? Recreate the scene — from the other person’s perspective.
My mother was alone
when I was born.
What I remember
is the lick
lick
lick
of her tongue
against my red fur.
—-
On weak legs
I stretched and stood
and you were there:
on the long, flat
black rock
and inside your mother.
—-
There was a small noise
barely audible
in my new ears
and then you stepped
out from your mother
and didn’t look
weak at all.
—-
You watched me
as I watched you.
And then you got back into
your mother.
And she moved on.
Gray Wolf Talks Inequality
Today’s Post Topic: Unequal Terms Did you know today is Blog Action Day? Join bloggers from around the world and write a post about what inequality means to you. Have you ever encountered it in your daily life?
I am a wolf
I am the wild
I am the wildness
That you shut out of yourself
And have forgotten about.
—-
You want to talk inequality?
I can survive on teeth
And speed
And family alone.
When was the last time
You left home without
Your smart phone?
—-
Inequality?
You weigh the world down
With your prolific population
And with your ups
We go down.
—-
Across the invisible boundary
And into your world.
We lose mother and father
And sister and brother.
Manifest Destiny!
Fuck you.
—-
I am the wild
I am a dwindling wildness.
Disgruntled Cyanobacteria: In Before There Was an “In”
Today’s Post Subject: Avant Garde From your musical tastes to your political views, were you ever way ahead of the rest of us, adopting the new and the emerging before everyone else?
You came to Yellowstone
to see wolves
and bears,
yet you barely glanced in
my direction.
Worse, you called me
“algae.”
Goddammit.
I am
CYANOBACTERIA!
I am flamboyant orange
and proud.
My cyano friends are yellow
and like things HOT.
Then there are the cyano browns.
Those guys are real cool.
In 3 square inches
Of our beautifully colored mats
There are more of us
Than there are humans on Earth.
You think you’re so important?
We are the oldest known fossils.
We put oxygen in your atmosphere.
Try seeing wolves without oxygen.
We put nitrogen in the soil
So your plants can grow.
Did I mention, plants?
Those guys stole the show
A long time ago.
But those fucking chloroplasts
You learned about in school
Are actually cyanobacterium
Living within the plant cells.
You better recognize.
4:45 A.M. In The Morning
Today’s writing prompt: Sweeping Motions What’s messier right now — your bedroom or you(r) computer’s desktop (or your favorite device’s home screen)? Tell us how and why it got to that state.
It’s 4:45 A.M. in the morning
and you’re up and at it.
Yellowstone hasn’t slept
and you know that
the past few hours in bed
at home
on the computer
have been filled with life
and death.
Wolves and elk.
Bears and moths.
Earthquakes
and hot water.
—-
The door closes behind you on
a room of things that don’t matter.
Camping & Tramping with Roosevelt
Today’s Post Topic: Reader’s Block What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without reading a book (since learning how to read, of course)? Which book was it that helped break the dry spell?
After a year in Yellowstone, all I had read were technical scientific journals and historical documents. When I tried to pick up an enjoyable read, I just felt burnt out. All of my old favorites had lost their vigor: Kingsolver, King, Joan Rivers (and I love Joan Rivers).
One day I was skimming through the work library looking for information on aspen recovery to use in an upcoming program. A small book grabbed my eye, “Camping and Tramping with Roosevelt.” Written by naturalist John Burroughs on Roosevelt’s 1903 visit to Yellowstone country. I picked it up and read it right there. And then read it again. I’ve gone on a vacation this weekend, and I brought it to read again.
There is something in the way Burroughs writes about their visit that is light and satisfying. He puts on no airs. They were bored by the thermal areas. He was nervous about skiing and that he couldn’t keep up while hiking. And yet his account of Roosevelt’s curiosity and propensity toward adventure was invigorating.
My favorite quote:
In front of the hotel were some low hills separated by gentle valleys. At the President’s suggestion, he and I raced on our skis down those inclines. We had only to stand up straight, and let gravity do the rest. As we were going swiftly down the side of one of the hills, I saw out of the corner of my eye the President taking a header into the snow. The snow had given way beneath him, and nothing could save him from taking the plunge. I don’t know whether I called out, or only thought, something about the downfall of the administration. At any rate, the administration was down, and pretty well buried, but it was quickly on its feet again, shaking off the snow with a boy’s laughter. I kept straight on, and very soon the laugh was on me, for the treacherous snow sank beneath me, and I took a header, too.
“Who is laughing now, Oom John?” called out the President.
The spirit of the boy was in the air that day about the Cañon of the Yellowstone, and the biggest boy of us all was President Roosevelt.
Find the whole text here: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/33053/33053-h/33053-h.htm
Grizzly Encounter: One Voice Too Many
Today’s Post Topic: Counting Voices A lively group discussion, an intimate tête-à-tête, an inner monologue — in your view, when it comes to a good conversation, what’s the ideal number of people?
Grizzly Encounter: One Voice Too Many
We were on a break
when you first appeared
with your big brown head.
Some were sitting on the fallen log
talking about their lives:
the dog, the kids, back home,
not here.
—-
The conversation was not based
on the sulfur green lake
or the smell of the forest.
We only paid slight attention
to the sound of the bugling elk.
How romantic
as we bantered on.
—-
Then from the shadows
I saw you move.
And every voice in the forest
was one voice too many.
—-
Your ear is missing
and your face is scarred.
I recognize you:
that big, old bear.
You don’t recognize me.
You don’t care.
—-
Long claws hit the
soft rock on the trail.
And now everyone
is aware.
You walk closer
and we back away.
And then you’re gone.
—-
Everything is quiet
Yellowstone In Words 