Category: dirt road chronicles

the apple pickers

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Animals, August, autumn, bucolia, dirt road chronicles, Earthling, earthlings, fauna, Gold, kin, outer rural, Poem, poetry, ruralia, summer, SunriseLeave a comment

when the Sun reaches the precise height
above horizon,
then arrive the tawny-bodied apple pickers and gleaners/
stilts for legs,
i count twenty limbs in tree camouflage/
bypassing the bushel and the sack
the bounty of fruit down into their bellies //

ears like SETI,
searching for sounds of hoof-less life — canine or primate in the universe
and also, for movement of my unseen, yet intense presence —my breath and pulse slowed, just above, just beyond them —

but i am not in a tree stand/ i brandish no shotgun, no ray gun ///

how rare, these ones are among us,

— among we Earthlings :

silent, gentle and elegant ///

they linger in the morning gold as it stretches West to the lake and evaporates too quick into its blues/

i linger in the dark cool of the open bedroom window, facing North

my senses also honed — and sated//

on this eve of August’s ides,

autumn has not trespassed on the summer,
but was intentionally summoned ///

apple-picker in the morning
on the eve of
August’s ides
2024

Sylvia Dickinson Edgar Anne Hughes

On By ©️K.T. 2025In birds, bucolia, Crone, Crone Consciousness, Cronehood, dirt road chronicles, Earthling, earthlings, fauna, Gnostic, julia gordon-bramer, ki, kin, metaphysical, Mother, Motherhood, mystic, outer rural, plath, Poem, poet, poetry, Proof of Life, Psychic, ruralia, Survival, sylvia plath, ted hughes, the occult sylvia plath, time, witch, witchery, witching, women, WomenfolkLeave a comment
Star — the starling, on the evening of July 7, 2024

every poet should know the company of a wild bird, at least once

i recently binged the biography:

“The Occult Sylvia Plath: The Hidden Spiritual Life of the Visionary Poet” by life-long Plath scholar Julia Gordon-Bramer

i feel fortunate this book was my introduction to Plath and her poet husband, Ted Hughes— and other significant influences in her life and poetry /

hat tip to my long-time favorite podcast: Aeon Byte Gnostic Radio — created and hosted by Miguel Conner at The Virtual Alexandria for interviewing Gordon-Bramer, because, for the first time ever, i was actually interested in Plath — and furthermore, i unexpectedly experienced a psychic “something” with Plath while listening to the audiobook; this “something” — i want to digest, explore – and possibly explain, in detail, in a future essay //

The Occult Sylvia Plath: The Hidden Spiritual Life of the Visionary Poet

Julia Gordon-Bramer

while i imbibed this book, i was simultaneously raising an injured and orphaned starling nestling — on an intensive feeding schedule — and during this time, i learned from the book, that Sylvia and Ted also attempted to rescue an injured and sick baby bird — but after a week, and upon determining rehabilitation was futile, they jointly and sadly euthanized the bird in their gas oven (i know. wow.) ///

Continue reading “Sylvia Dickinson Edgar Anne Hughes” →

maybe on the full moon

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Animals, Crone, crone chronicles, Crone Consciousness, dirt road chronicles, Earthling, earthlings, ki, kin, kinship, outer rural, Poem, poetryLeave a comment

if you move out of the city
if you move into the country

if you reclaim a meadow

if you plant more than two dozen trees
if you oppose paving the dirt road
if you fill ten bird baths, every single day, until they freeze
if you refuse to mow the clover, plaintain, and dandelion before they set seed
if you sit in silence on the stoop each night, watching
if you turn off every single light before bedtime

if you listen, listen, and listen
if you offer your attention
if you humble your human brain
if you embrace your animal body
if you fall into instinctual kinship
if you are ceaseless in your reverence
if you follow your intuition

maybe the crows will tell their brethren you’re a safe one
maybe the doe will bring her fawns to the salt lick during daylight
maybe the snake will slither under the workbench in the barn while you stand there
maybe the rabbits won’t flee your garden at your footfall
maybe the bats will dance in the twilight sky just above your head

maybe the luna moth will reveal herself to you in that meadow

Continue reading “maybe on the full moon” →

chosen by swallows, finally

On By ©️K.T. 2025In barn swallows, blue swallows, crone chronicles, Crone Consciousness, Cronehood, dirt road chronicles, earthlings, fauna, howard nemerov, joy, june, kin, kinship, nature, outer rural, photograph, photography, Poem, poetryLeave a comment

an ascetic’s petitionary prayer, answered

for six consecutive summers, i’ve observed barn swallows enter and inspect the barn — diving and swooping in and out, perching and chattering wholly unbothered by my presence — but not until this, my sixth summer, did they finally deem worthy and decide to make their nest on a joist in this old, ramshackle barn

to experience their nesting is such a tender mercy in the time of remote, yet constant virtual witness and heartrage of genocide, of global horrors and famine — and of the daily unnatural disasters and unrelenting evidence of abrupt, irreversible climate breakdown and biodiversity/ecosystems collapse.

barn swallow nest under construction,
june 9, 2024
Audobon’s Birds of America, Popular Edition,
1950, Macmillan,


*from the author’s collection of vintage books of North American birds, wildlife and insects

O swallows, swallows, poems are not The point. Finding again the world, That is the point, where loveliness Adorns intelligible things 
Because the mind’s eye lit the sun.

Howard Nemerov

Continue reading “chosen by swallows, finally” →

come back, come back

On By ©️K.T. 2025In agraria, aviary, birds, bucolia, crone chronicles, dirt road chronicles, Essay, goodbye city life, hummingbird, Kahlo, Lament, ornithology, poemo, ruralia, Spiritive, Spirrative, wildlifeLeave a comment
hummingbirds where have you gone?
ADDENDUM: the hummingbirds did come back, and as of September 8, 2024 10:00 AM EDT, they are still here.

mid-late april, optimistic
early may, expectant
mid may, consternation

meticulously,
i sanitize the vessels,
bases and perches
soaking and fastidiously brushing the red and yellow flower parts to clean them of all gunk and lodged debris
i employ two, simple, pinched-waist, glass hummingbird feeders //
there are more beautiful, ornamental, more expensive or cheaper feeders available,
but this design functions best/ i am a seven year veteran of hummingbird joy.

age-old recipe for hummingbird feeder nectar:

1 part pure cane sugar.

PURE. CANE. SUGAR.

to

4 parts water.

the end.

not beet sugar, not organic sugar,
nor turbinado, nor raw, never brown sugar

this so very important – other sugars are too susceptible to mold, to bacteria, or contain too much iron in the form of molasses.

pure, white, refined and granulated cane sugar, chemically and nutritionally, most closely approximates natural flower nectar

never ever, use store-bought nectar mix* or pre-mix*;
*and when in a store that sells that toxic shit, bury the packets or hide the bottles behind other merchandise on the shelf — just as when i spot Clinton, Kissinger, Amy Schumer, Dubya, or Sheryl Sandberg non-fiction fictions on the shelf at bookstores or big box stores — i flip that tripe backwards and upside down
so, again:

age-old recipe for hummingbird feeder nectar:

1 part cane sugar

to

4 parts fresh water,

i use pristine well water, here: i am so very fortunate: no chlorine, no fluoride just elements and minerals, no water treatment except for a sediment filter

these two simple ingredients vigorously shaken together, not stirred/
just like my homemade margarita with ice
in the same one-quart glass mason jar

i check the feeders
throughout the day
i obsess, i pray, in my own way

first incantation songs
then lamentation songs

a carpenter bee tricks my ear while i am on my knees digging in the garden

was that her? is she back? are they back?

no, that wasn’t;
no, they’re not.

i google:

“do hummingbirds return to the same summer nesting and feeding grounds each year?”
&
“how long do hummingbirds live?

Continue reading “come back, come back” →

she talks to serpents

On By ©️K.T. 2025In agraria, Animals, Archetype, author, bucolia, Crone, crone chronicles, Crone Consciousness, Cronehood, dirt road chronicles, Earthling, earthlings, Eve, Garden of Eden, Gnosis, Gnostic, ki, kin, kinship, Knowledge, limineen, Mother, Ouroboros, outer rural, photograph, photography, poet, Proof of Life, ruralia, serpent, snake, telepathy, The Trickster, Tree of Knowledge, witcheryLeave a comment

says they call her out by her name

blue racer sunning themself beneath
the author’s window
Continue reading “she talks to serpents” →

oh, April

On By ©️K.T. 2025In agraria, April, bucolia, crone chronicles, dirt road chronicles, Earthling, earthlings, limineen, outer rural, photograph, photography, Poem, Robin Wall Kimmerer, ruralia, spring, Sunset, videoLeave a comment

“Why is the World so beautiful?”

Robin Wall Kimmerer
the almost-surreal beauty
of the evening
of the 29th day of April,
2024 CE
Cenozoic Era
Quarternary Period
Anthropocene Epoch
Michigan, North America

“Why is the World so beautiful?” asks, Dr. Robin Wall Kimmerer.

It didn’t have to be — the Earth could’ve been Big-Banged out into a uniform, utilitarian and dull rocky planet — evolving without bluebirds, banana trees and bioluminescent jellyfish — or April’s apple blossoms, golden-pink sky Sunsets, and frog choruses,

but it wasn’t.

have mercy.

Continue reading “oh, April” →

crow-hearted

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Animals, Crone, crone chronicles, Crows, Death, dirt road chronicles, Earthling, earthlings, ki, kin, kinship, outer rural, relationships, the old godsLeave a comment

i have a heart for crows.

a Crow died and also lived here

likely dying during or before the brief, but deep snowdrifts of january 2024

and definitely not by predation; Crows are simply too smart for the local feral cat bird-killers (the only worthwhile information that author Jonathan Franzen ever imparted to me) — and work in groups to warn and defend against hawks and owls;

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preparation

On By ©️K.T. 2025In agraria, bucolia, climate, Climate Collapse, Crone, crone chronicles, Crone Consciousness, Cronehood, dirt road chronicles, Earthling, ecocide, Genocide, goodbye city life, inner city, outer rural, Palestine, planetary hospice, Poem, poetry, ruralia, Winter, WomenfolkLeave a comment

she counted propane canisters
for her two Mr. Heaters
put batteries in her camp lanterns — circa 2004,
set out votive and prayer candles, matches and lighters,

worked past midnight
to empty, wash, fill or refill glass wine bottles with water for drinking, teeth-brushing, cooking

that is the advantage of the white wine screw cap bottles
p.s. VOGA pinot grigio is unrivaled for this use
she’s saved them over the months for this sole purpose, those Italians sure know what they’re doin’

she rotated supply: filled buckets with the previously stored precious water,
placed them in the bathtubs for toilet flushing
and in Igloo jugs
for hand and face washing
& dishwashing

(and, hoe baths too)

this beautiful welled water, pumped from 75 feet below the surface, 10 feet of clay and 65 of sand, her friend once researched county well drill permit records for her.

she made a pot of marinara, boiled 3 lbs of potatoes, planned for pancakes, printed out dutch oven bread recipes,

she set out the dog’s paw wax and his wardrobe of coats,

she refreshed her vintage wool blankets on low heat with honeysuckle-infused dryer sheets,

found her favorite j. crew wool men’s sweater, moss green — circa 1999, which reminded: she best learn some knitting – for repairs and darning, at the very least, the cuff seam is unraveling, but, my god, it’s so warm.

she filled all the bird feeders before sunset, although she’s spotted deer at them at twilight and midnight — using their tongues to excavate the seed,

she set the snow shovel and outdoor broom just outside, beside her back door

all this,

just in case

freezing lines and tree limbs knock the power out

and Lake Effect drifts become temporarily insurmountable

she’s always prepared, she always knows what to do

or can generally figure it out, figure a way out of it – and, without GPS

except:

what to do in

a genocide and in climate collapse.

Continue reading “preparation” →

Feed the Wildlife! a radical imperative (& request)

On By ©️K.T. 2025In crone chronicles, Crone Consciousness, Cronehood, dirt road chronicles, Earthling, earthlings, from the inner city to outer rural, ki, kin, kinship, planetary hospice, reciprocity, symbiosity, wildlifeLeave a comment


please FEED THE WILDLIFE! if you have means to do so — to help our Earthling kin survive and thrive in the extreme temperatures and conditions of winter and summer — and during fall and spring migration

why is this radical?

because we have been instilled and warned to not do this!

but we now need to feed the wildlife we share habitat with — precisely because we’ve destroyed so much of their own habitat — and their preferred and once-abundant wild food and water sources

(but please only set out food for those wild kin who visit or inhabit your yards, balconies, patios or city parks – still, never feed our more-than-human kin in wilderness, or national, federal, state or county parks, forests, natural areas or preserves)

A charcuterie board for resident Crows
in their favorite spot to feast — the stone slab footprint of a former barn.

Crows are very clean and considerate
more-than-human kin— they prefer to wash their food with water and to wait for their entire family to assemble before eating.
Continue reading “Feed the Wildlife! a radical imperative (& request)” →

The Murder of an August Meadow

On By ©️K.T. 2025In August, Crone, crone chronicles, dirt road chronicles, ki, kin, Lament, Lamentations, plant beings, Poem, poetry, summer, symbiosity, wildlifeLeave a comment

full bloom,
milkweed, goldenrod, chicory,
aster,
thistle or teasel — i don’t know
they’re 7, 8, 9, feet tall
their leaf cups full of collected dew, or rain

the meadow is just all

give give give.

in fifteen minutes,
give or take,


all, gone
beneath a tractor blade

take, take, take,

take.

Continue reading “The Murder of an August Meadow” →