Category Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis

So Small

Note: Our big move from Continental Divide, New Mexico to Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin is finally complete. We drove over 1,200 miles with our two dogs, Pax and Juneau, and the moving truck showed up, and we are a long way toward removing everything from boxes. Sturgeon Bay is beautiful, located on a peninsula that juts out into Lake Michigan. Our daughters, Sonja and Mary, their husbands, Bill and Rick, and three of our grandchildren, Phoebe, Will, and Joey, were on hand to greet and help us. Without their help we would still be struggling along rather than comfortably situated. We are located less than two blocks from the bay of Sturgeon Bay and a couple of miles from Green Bay, the bay that stretches from the Lake, past Sturgeon Bay, to the famous city of the famous football team. Right now Canadian geese are flying over the house during all the hours of daylight, and, when it is not raining, sun shines on the dark blue of lake waters and waves. Tom and Ethel

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

At night
Venus,
with wildrose eyes,
climbs down
her ladder
of matchstick rungs
until
she disappears
behind
the trees,
the horizon,
the earth.

So small she seems.
But in reality
she is so large,
the distance between
the stars
so great.

I wonder,
when we start
travelling between stars,
and we look back at the earth,
If we will have regrets?”

Like the mother fox
this morning who doubled
back across the highway
to check if her dead young
were still alive.

Will we regret not
taking care of each other?

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A Country of Stones

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

It is a country of stones—
Stoneland.

All you have to do,
when you walk,
is look down,
and there are
the most interesting stones.

All kinds, colors
and strenghs.

Looking down today
I saw petrified wood.

It is a land
more about itself
and less about humans,
it’s vastness
overwhelming.

The animals,
with adept feet,
steal away
where people never see,

a private land,
so much undiscovered.

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Shiva

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

In my two weeks of absence
I deeply missed
Shiva, my dog.

When I arrived home
she danced in circles;
then approached me slowly,
smelling my head—
smelling bone, flesh and brain fluid
slipped into my breath.

At night she lay
her head across
my chest,
like the old nurse
from the night shift,
an angel of mercy,
who came to my rescue.

The old dog who knew
about healing;
she showed me
how to be human.

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The Sacred Space

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I will make a sacred space around you—
like the dome of heaven over the earth.
There the arrows will not penetrate,
and the bow will not exist.
Inside the air will be
the icy breath of January.
It will awaken you from your sleep,
but warmth will be all around you
like the arms of a great bear.

There will also be faces of wolves
whose muzzles poke you under your arm
to get you up on your feet
to see if your wobbly legs can stand.

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Rainwater

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

All night
I heard the dog
barking for someone
to help him.
Over the week
his barks became weaker,
until they ceased.

Today the rains
came gently, slowly.
I had to adjust
the rain gutter outside
and got my hair wet.

Rain in the desert
is a cleansing,
renewing
experience,
cleaning what man
leaves in all the earth.

Passing the hall mirror,
I noticed my hair
shiny, soft and curly.

I remember when you
ran outside to catch
the rainwater.
You said it made your hair
so beautiful and shiny,
cleaning it
like nothing else.

Today, in the field,
the vultures are circling.

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In Memory of Kevin Michael Davis

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

drawing by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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In the Land of the Ravens

a pastel drawing by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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Wings

To Pat Fennell,
a fountain of information on hummingbirds

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

A thousand beats
per belly,
eating drops of nectar
to get you through
the great Sonoran Desert,
eating tiny flies
to get you
to Central America
or even
South America,
flying
the Gulf of Mexico
in a long day.

All I want to hear
before I die
are wings of hummingbirds.

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Hummingbird Drama

a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Hummingbird Drama

Continental Divide, New Mexico is located on a major migration route for hummingbirds. Ethel only keeps three feeders at our house because of the amount of work necessary. This a photo of one bird, but right now we have swarms of them. Wings whir; they dart and buzz; they fly off to nearby trees; they sit on our fence; then they return to the feeders. They often look like a moving cloud. Each feeder, if they are to be kept filled, requires five trips to where they are out of the house a day. We often have up to six species at the feeders, often quarreling, at once.

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The Best Gatherer

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I remember you best
at blackberry time:

The best gatherer
of our time
who could out-pick
the Champion Blackberry King
with his shining buckets
and mounds upon
mounds
of the gems
shining
like your shining
eyes were,
dark, almost black.

I remember you best
when I go
into the woods
to gather berries,
reaching out
for the shining black
eyes
and seeing your brown,
strong hands again,
coming home
to show us
your treasures.

How good it felt
this blackberry time.

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