
The difference between Longhorns and Holsteins is refined by the eye and the landscape they occupy, that ‘look’ consistent with and connected to place – a depth of meaning and experience for either breed, whether in the dairy barn or wide-open spaces. I believe that on the periphery, on the fuzzy edge of knowing, supposing, hoping (or not, for some) that art and poetry live. It is with this eye and its refinement that we appreciate and judge, search for, revere and recognize in all things. We are attracted to the ‘look’. Perhaps it’s that inexplicable personal magnetism that Newton sought to quantify, perhaps it’s our past lives, but it’s out there, waiting for its moment in the vast scheme of things.
STILL ALIVE
Gray between rains,
flames burn in my eye,
deadfall reduced to ash
other side of the creek
before it arrives.
Needless preparations
unless it never quits
to make up for three years
off-storming elsewhere –
like setting a nice table
for the grande dame
of this canyon, our
benefactor and lover,
the ferocious bitch
that owns us.
Driving between fires
above the brush racks
with my grandson, I see
red in a black oak stump
dancing at least a decade.


Jessica Dofflemyer photos
More rain today.