CreativeVortex; the Blog

Onyx, the sturdy black Labrador, and Bonaparte, the small yet fiercely spirited Lhasa Apso, lounged on the cozy carpet that stretched across the deck. The late afternoon sun cast a warm golden glow, creating the perfect setting for their daily debrief. The deck overlooked a lush garden, where birds flitted between the trees and squirrels scurried about, ever watchful of the two canine sentinels.

“Quite the eventful day, wouldn’t you say?” Onyx began, her deep voice resonating like a low rumble of thunder.

Bonaparte, who despite his small stature had an air of undeniable authority, nodded. “Indeed, Onyx. I dare say we’ve outdone ourselves today. Let’s start with the birds.”

Onyx’s tail thumped in agreement. “The blue jay was back this morning. I caught sight of him just as he landed on the birdbath.”

“The nerve of that bird,” Bonaparte interrupted, his voice tinged with irritation. “Strutting about as if he owns the place. I barked at him to let him know who’s in charge around here.”

“And he flew off immediately,” Onyx said with a chuckle, her lootongue lolling out in a friendly grin. “You always get them with that bark of yours. No one can resist it.”

Bonaparte puffed up with pride. “That’s right. But the squirrels…now, that was the real excitement of the day.”

Onyx’s eyes gleamed at the memory. “They were everywhere, weren’t they? I counted at least four different ones. The brown one with the white-tipped tail was the fastest, but I think we almost had him when we chased him up the big Redwood tree.”

Bonaparte’s eyes narrowed as he recalled the chase. “Almost had him. But he’s wily, that one. He darted up that tree like a flash. Still, we gave him a good run. He won’t be coming down anytime soon.”

Onyx nodded in agreement, the thrill of the chase still fresh in his mind. “But the real highlight, Bonaparte, was when that stranger showed up.”

Bonaparte bristled, his eyes sharpening as he replayed the scene. “Ah yes, the stranger. I noticed him first, lurking near the gate. Something about him didn’t sit right with me.”

Onyx’s ears perked up. “I saw him too. He wasn’t from around here, that’s for sure. His scent was unfamiliar.”

Bonaparte leaned in, his voice low and serious. “We did the right thing, Onyx. The moment he stepped onto the property, we had to act.”

“And we did,” Onyx replied, her voice firm. “You took the lead, barking up a storm. I followed your cue, and together, we made sure he knew this wasn’t a place to loiter.”

Bonaparte’s tail wagged slightly, a rare show of approval. “I saw him jump when we started barking. He didn’t stick around long after that.”

Onyx grinned. “You scared him off good. We did our job, Bonaparte. The property is safe.”

The two dogs sat in companionable silence for a moment, basking in their shared victory. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck. Bonaparte broke the silence, his voice softer now.

“We make a good team, Onyx.”

Onyx rested her chin on her paws, eyes half-closed in contentment. “That we do, Bonaparte. That we do.”

As the evening breeze rustled the leaves, the two friends settled in for the night, satisfied with a day well spent, ever watchful and ready for whatever tomorrow might bring.

Sung to the Wellerman chanty

From Willits town, we set our sights,
To Mendocino’s coastal lights,
On Highway 20, twist and turn,
With every mile, our engines burn.

Soon may the drivers come,
To blast through straight parts, having fun,
One day, when the road is done,
We’ll see the ocean’s glow.

The winding roads and towering trees,
The scent of conifers upon the breeze,
With every curve, our spirits rise,
Till one RV appears, surprise!

Soon may the drivers come,
To blast through straight parts, having fun,
One day, when the road is done,
We’ll see the ocean’s glow.

Oh, RV slow, we’re stuck behind,
No passing lane, no way to find,
A route around your creeping pace,
We’re yearning for an open space.

Soon may the drivers come,
To blast through straight parts, having fun,
One day, when the road is done,
We’ll see the ocean’s glow.

With hands on wheel and hearts in sync,
We dream of Fort Bragg’s coastal brink,
Yet stuck we are, at ten a crawl,
Behind this wall that won’t move at all.

Soon may the drivers come,
To blast through straight parts, having fun,
One day, when the road is done,
We’ll see the ocean’s glow.

But patience, friends, we’ll make it through,
To Mendocino’s skies so blue,
And when we park by ocean’s side,
We’ll laugh about that sluggish ride.

Soon may the drivers come,
To blast through straight parts, having fun,
One day, when the road is done,
We’ll see the ocean’s glow.

Beneath the morning sun, I water blooms,
While hummingbirds dart through the gentle spray.
With wings of emerald and ruby hues,
They dance in light, as colors weave and play.

Their tiny bodies shimmer in the sun,
Each drop a jewel upon their feathered flight.
In garden’s peace, this vibrant scene begun,
As nature’s jewels bask in pure delight.

Across my field on the other side of Noyo River stands, a redwood tree,
In its dead top branches, osprey raise their young in craggy crown.
Years have passed and countless seasons, fledglings learning how to soar,
Guided by the ancient knowledge, taught by those who came before.

Through the winters, through the summers, steadfast stands the ancient tree,
Witness to the cycle’s rhythm, life and death in harmony.
Osprey parents teach their offspring, how to fish and how to fly,
How to build a nest from nothing, reaching upwards to the sky.

Generations come and flourish, nurtured by this timeless guide,
In the shadows of the branches, where the river meets the tide.
Secrets of the Noyo River, whispered through the rustling leaves,
In the heart of craggy branches, where the osprey find reprieve.

Two weasels dance within the silver stream,
That cuts through fields on its way to Noyo’s flow.
Beneath the willows drooping, soft and green,
They weave and whirl in playful undertow,
As sunlight gleams on water’s gentle dream.

Upon my path, a Douglas fir cone lies,
Its woody scales conceal small mousies’ prize.
In secret nooks, the tiny creatures hide,
Their quiet homes within the cone abide.
Nature’s small wonders, tucked in forest’s guise.

Upon the steps where sunlight warmly falls,
A garter snake in stillness calmly lies.
Its slender form in golden stripes enthralls,
As gentle rays reflect from watchful eyes.
In nature’s grace, it basks, serene and wise.

My neighbor, the Puma, prowls silently, deadly as the night.
I never see him, but his lethal artistry leaves its mark.
The remains of his hunts, scattered bones in the field.
A silent beauty, he moves with grace unseen.
His powerful body, lithe and muscular, slinks through tall grasses.
In the shadows, he is a phantom, a whisper on the wind.
The cries in the night send chills through my spine.
An echo of the wild, a reminder of nature’s raw force.
He is the unseen predator, the ghost in the moonlight.
His presence a secret, known only by his deadly work.
A master of stealth, his power lies in his silence.
My neighbor, the Puma, a creature of untamed elegance.

By Noyo’s flow, the Kingfisher takes flight,
Its wings ablaze with azure, swift and bright.
It dives with grace, a flash of beak and spray,
Emerging victor, fish in grasp, its prey.
On river’s edge, it rests as day burns bright.

Title of a compilation of poems from my time in Mendocino County, California.