Essays | Kathleen Dean Moore

The Augmented Forth

Rain drummed on the hatches and splashed off the decks, but still we could make out the sound of a wolf howling from the cliffs over the cove where we dropped anchor. There was only one wolf, although we listened carefully to be sure. The howl started low, leapt up, slid along the water, and sank away. Nothing answered the wolf's call. Frank and I listened, as the wolf must have listened, the question probing the clouds and damping out in the forest, the draperies of lichens and drooping hemlock boughs.

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The Testimony of the Marsh

We're on a high desert lake on Memorial Day, floating in a crowd of ducks and coots and diving swallows, and it's so noisy we don't even try to talk. All we can do is gawk and gape. It's a wide, shallow lake and we're canoeing in the upper end, where spring run-off has flooded into the dwarf willows and marshgrass. The coots up in the lily pads are making an awful fuss--charging at intruders, showing off for the ladies, howling at the moon, breaking up the furniture. The Canada geese pretend they don't notice. The gander silently swims between his goslings and the coots, a parent herding his children through Times Square. But the yellow-headed blackbirds have no such inhibitions. "Wow," they say. "Wow." Frank and I, shameless voyeurs, study the coots with binoculars.

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The World Depends on This

The message machine was blinking when I got home from work: “First, I want you to know that your daughter is going to be fine.” I braced myself for whatever would come next. “She was arrested during the anti-war demonstrations. They’re holding her in the San Francisco County Jail.”
Frank and I had been watching world news all day. Now suddenly, this wasn’t about world news. It was about our daughter and a parent’s fears. What will she eat? How can she sleep? Do the handcuffs cut her wrists?

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			The Augmented Forth Rain drummed on the hatches and splashed off the decks, but still we could make out the sound of a wolf howling from the cliffs over the cove where we dropped anchor. There was only one wolf, although we listened carefully to be sure. The howl started low, leapt up, slid along the water, and sank away. Nothing answered the wolf's call. Frank and I listened, as the wolf must have listened, the question probing the clouds and damping out in the forest, the draperies of lichens and drooping hemlock boughs. Full-Text ... The Testimony of the Marsh We're on a high desert lake on Memorial Day, floating in a crowd of ducks and coots and diving swallows, and it's so noisy we don't even try to talk. All we can do is gawk and gape. It's a wide, shallow lake and we're canoeing in the upper end, where spring run-off has flooded into the dwarf willows and marshgrass. The coots up in the lily pads are making an awful fuss--charging at intruders, showing off for the ladies, howling at the moon, breaking up the furniture. The Canada geese pretend they don't notice. The gander silently swims between his goslings and the coots, a parent herding his children through Times Square. But the yellow-headed blackbirds have no such inhibitions. "Wow," they say. "Wow." Frank and I, shameless voyeurs, study the coots with binoculars. Full-Text ... The World Depends on This The message machine was blinking when I got home from work: “First, I want you to know that your daughter is going to be fine.” I braced myself for whatever would come next. “She was arrested during the anti-war demonstrations. They’re holding her in the San Francisco County Jail.” Frank and I had been watching world news all day. Now suddenly, this wasn’t about world news. It was about our daughter and a parent’s fears. What will she eat? How can she sleep? Do the handcuffs cut her wrists? Full-Text ...

		Copyright © 2008 Kathleen Dean Moore