Herbie Mann Comin' Home

Sunday, March 13, 2011

God's Little Acre. Fraction.


In counting the vegetation, six Douglas fir, two cedar, all 30 feet in height, a broken palisade against sunshine which isn't coming,

it being the March rains called showers causing river rise

the industrial parks built on valley silt farm land, lower, flooding, it's late winter

the time to walk the perimeter and its interior, a desmesne under family name,

to go, as provided in devise, to the Fine Daughter and her consort when he will and their heirs in perpetuity,

they're not even living nearby, nor has she yet met him, yet the land is firmly hers and the projected his, too, through eventual encounter and conjugality

and let this be public notice thereof and that my boots trod this land this day amongst the junipers and large old rhododendron whose flowers soon enough will match the size of a human head,

and nubby lawn and knobby tree roots snaking to widely balance the tree heights, the color green as Ireland half way around the world,

and that I'm lord for now, ambling this very parcel here.


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16 comments:

  1. taking note of your lordship. this is so much nicer than slapping up those "posted" signs.

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  2. I live on several acres and the beauty therein, as well as the stewardship thereof, thrill me.

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  3. Beautiful piece of writing. Spooky how much it fits the Magpie prompt, considering you posted it last night.

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  4. Marian,

    Again, thanks. My peerage doesn't extend far, but where it goes, it's unimpeachable.

    Trulyfool

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  5. Kim,

    If I had several acres, I might very well become 'Nature Boy'!

    TFool

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  6. Tess,

    Thank you. Spooky is indeed the word -- I've linked it to Magpie, though I had no idea of doing so, not knowing what was to be!

    It's like the 'urban myth' of a cluster of women living together for a long time all of whose 'periods' eventually come into sync?

    I've been Magpied?

    TFool

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  7. Beautiful...I especially like the last three lines.

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  8. And there you are, squire of silt, and
    keeper of fir, pounding the Northwest
    ground lovingly with your royal boots,
    arms spread like Tevye, talking to God
    like a mad poet drunk with ownership,
    consumed with the immensity and
    the glory gathered at your feet,
    within your sight line, and we love
    your strutting and your language.

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  9. Yes, you have emerged, raw and true, into our cluster of inner Magpies.

    Speaking of, when I was a teenager in a household of four functioning women, our periods actually did morph together.

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  10. What a lovely place. I can see it and smell the pine. Wonderful that a place like that is passed on.http://judyidliketosay.blogspot.com/2011/03/ghost.html

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  11. Laurie,

    Thanks! I do think the terminal lines do some 'tying-off' of the verbal wending above them.

    Trulyfool

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  12. Glenn,

    . . . and you know your PNW, too, my friend!

    Trulyfool
    ("If I were a rich man . . .")

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  13. Tess,

    When myth and actuality meet . . . watch out!

    TFool
    (Once again glad to be a 'Magpie')

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  14. Judy,

    Thank you! And it is a lovely place. Mornings it's quiet as you'd want. Cool, now. Foresty even though suburban.

    Trulyfool

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  15. Sounds like my neck of the woods. The March rains aren't that much different from the rest of the year, are they? This is a well-written will, much more effective than lawyer-speak.

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  16. T,

    Most certainly is 'our side' of the Cascades!

    These March rains are like California February rains: showery, blustery.

    As to the 'instrument of conveyance', I'm sure you could blindfold me, open up to any page of Martindale-Hubbell, and we could find any number of attorneys, wherever my finger would fall, able enought to delegitimize what I've said.

    But I'm grateful for your faith in me!

    Trulyfool

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