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Pastimes : A Poetry Corner -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Robert Douglas Hickey who wrote (195)	2/26/1999 10:35:00 AM
From: Robert Douglas Hickey	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 1582

The Ghosts of Walhachin These hills are eskers and dry impoverished clay supporting bunchgrass, sagebrush lone ponderosa and, some rare times a beautiful brown chocolate orchid or a tiny vivid yellow flame-tongued jack-in-the-pulpit. There must have been a thin line of green once, following the dripping flumes as they marched zig-zag down the thirsty hills, bringing water from Deadman Lake to the apple trees regimented in orchards on the benchlands below. Now the flumes are bone-dry: crumbling, haphazard, meandering. And the apple trees are unkempt: unwatered, unpruned, unpicked for seventy years. These are the tangible ghosts of Walhachin the ghosts I remember from my childhood. Broken flumes, scruffy apples testaments to a grand undertaking undone. Robert Douglas Hickey

To: Robert Douglas Hickey who wrote (195)	3/9/1999 5:29:00 PM
From: Rainy_Day_Woman	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 1582

Dalliance of Eagles by Walt Whitman Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles, The rushing amorous contact high in space together, The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel, Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling, In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling, Till o'er the river pois'd, the twain yet one, a moment's lull, A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing, Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse flight, She hers, he his, pursuing.