Author Archives: janishaag

I was hoping that the 26-second video that goes with today’s poem, “Water in conversation with other water,” would appear at the bottom of the email you received with the poem. Apparently it did not. To see the video at … Continue reading →

We stop to watch from the bluff-top trailas down on the rain-soaked sand two children work to carve a channelto convince water falling over nearby rocks to snake gracefully intorising surf. They work so hard at what nature does all … Continue reading →

Because stories are spells; they change things. When they hook us and reel us into their magic, they change us. It’s stories that will save us, in the end. Not just the stories we read or tell, or the stories … Continue reading →

The capsized ones float on the incoming tide,moving them toward sand and air, where, had they not already died,they would soon out of their element. And as I walk the tideline, the cobaltsailboats of the by-the-wind sailors tilt starboard and … Continue reading →

(Iris douglasiana)•••(for all the Dougs) Now that we know their name,we can address them properly aswe walk by the fan-shaped flowers on the bluff-top trail: Hiya, Doug,which calls to mind so manyDougs we have known— the college newspaper editorwho, decades … Continue reading →

(Pieris marginalis) The small white winged thingwhose name I did not yet knowwas the third insect I relocatedtoday from inside to out. The first an oblong black bugcrawling on the tan tile,easy to see, step on, but,as is my habit, … Continue reading →

I start the day in my hometowncircling a labyrinth as eight seekerswind around its twists and turnsas the sun climbs and warms us. I end the day by the sea at lowtide, so low that rocks I’ve rarelyseen here lollygag … Continue reading →

noun:1. The condition or quality of being complete or whole. ••• On my knees on the soft garden mat,bare hands telescoping into cold earth—because it’s spring, allegedly— I think about the total solar eclipse thatI will not see, far as … Continue reading →

After a couple dayswith April showers,springshine is backin Northern CA, his email says withthree sweet photosof the pink dogwoodhe sees when he stepsout his front door— one showing the newsprites at a distance,sprouting from the treethat struts its stuffthis time … Continue reading →

Spring is the cruelest timeto die, I used to think—just as winter rolls up itsgray quilt and lifts off, as the skeletons of treeshold the hope of green,some even budding intoearly pink laughterunder warm sun. The departed miss all this—the … Continue reading →