Sunrise
November 11, 2016
 
The morning sun gave light in brilliant bands of red, offset by cloud cover gray, the sort of brilliant sunrise once attributed to air pollution. The air still smelled of yesterday’s smoke, a thick haze of particles. I could smell the smoke in my apartment, in my workplace, and anywhere I went outside. I was frightened.

I had heard about how the fire at Gatlinburg had invaded the city and burned a thousand buildings, but that did not frighten me. Neither did the tales of all the timber burned at Cohutta wilderness in North Georgia.
Health alerts from local agencies warned those with heart disease, asthma, and other conditions aggravated by poor air quality to stay indoors, run air conditioning not at all. I have heart disease, asthma, and other conditions aggravated by poor air quality. I was afraid I would breathe smoke until I gurgled my last breath through congested bronchial tubes, unlike the pleasant sensation as my exhalations once gurgled from the hose of a regulator as I observed shocking neon green and blue fish at coral reefs near the Florida Keys.

This dry October caped the hottest summer on record, with the driest October in 140 years, according to official figures.  A man from California said that this is no drought, not like it is out west, with his state and several others dividing the water from the Colorado River. That river becomes a dry stream bed by the time it reaches the Sea of Cortez.

This year, our relative abundance of water is paltry. The parched leaves and twigs of forests became a tinder box prepared for any spark. The land may lose its hair at any turn.

Mountains blaze in Georgia and East Tennessee. Gatlinburg suffered the worst but is not alone. Campfires are strictly prohibited. Lightning struck at Cohutta Wilderness. The area remains closed until further notice. Fires rage on Fox Mountain and Signal Mountain, on Lookout Mountain, and at Cleveland, Tennessee. More fires blaze in North Carolina.

Meanwhile, there is good news from out West. Conservation groups bought some water rights and left a little water in the Colorado. Water reached the Sea of Cortez and recharged marshes and estuaries.
Here in Tennessee, we hope for rain that the green earth may be restored.

​Ray Zimmerman is pleased announce a book signing for his new poetry and photography chap book Healing and Conflict:
Saturday, November 24
1 PM to 3 PM
Star Line Books
1467 Market Street, Suite 106
www.starlinebooks.com 
(423) 777-5629
 
This will be a second chance for those who missed the book launch earlier this month (photos attached).
 
More than half of the poems are previously published in journals, including:
 
The Avocet (Fountain Hills, AZ)
Number One (Gallatin, TN)
Quill and Parchment (Online)
Weatherings Anthology (FutureCycle Press, Lexington, KY)
 
Terrence Chouinard of The Wing and the Wheel Press contributed the perfect typography and design skills to this collection. The local Chattanooga printing company Wonder Press did an excellent job with production. The author will assume primary distribution at readings, signings and open mic events. The book is locally written and locally printed.
 
Fellow poets had this to say about the advance copy:
 
Ray Zimmerman’s collection of poems Healing and Conflict invites the reader outside: “go and watch/rain falling on parched earth. /see it come back to life.” His words, like that rain, are transformative to those who look and listen. Trees burn with ice, water cascades, booming, against mountain hardwoods. Most memorable are the birds. Warblers, hawks, barred owls, chickadees, and cranes provide this book’s unifying motif, and a delightful surprise, when the reader joins a flock of blackbirds in flight.
Marsha Mathews,
Author of Beauty Bound        
 
“I have come to understand / that my poems are not poems…but the poetics of the earth” (“Intro Part I”). Ray Zimmerman explores nature through language and language through nature. With images and similes like “The winter snow arrived like a sonnet. / It reached the house in three waves, / capped by a couplet of ice” (“Winter Snow”), the reader becomes immersed in Zimmerman’s vivid landscape, both verbal and actual. Though he claims, “My poems are shadows on the wall” (“Intro Part II”), Zimmerman’s words intrigue the reader as she delves into the subtext of these poems, and they continue to haunt her long after the book is closed.
KB Ballentine
Almost Everything, Almost Nothing
 
In “Introduction, Part II, Zimmerman says “If you enjoy my poem about falling rain or about cranes in flight…go and watch rain falling on parched earth…listen to cranes trumpeting as they take to the air.” In Healing, these poems not only have a prayerful devotion to the natural world but use specific names, images and Zimmerman’s hard-won humor from handling hawks, eagles and owls. In Conflict, he reminds us of the massive plastic islands humans have left floating in the oceans, of trends of certain species’ depletions. Yet, this chapbook is a celebration of birds, amphibians, reptiles and mammals, of seasons and landscapes of planet earth, narrated with sensory details and a deeply personal voice.
--Bill Brown, The News Inside
 

​February: Eyeshine
 
A warm winter night sent me down the road with car windows open. My body told my mind that anything could happen. The mountain road was lonely enough to break your heart … or fill it to overflowing.
The green shine of an eye rose on the road, perhaps the eye of a deer. As I hit the brakes a much smaller creature appeared. A fox ran off the road and into the bushes below.
I exited the car and walked to the side of the road, but the fox was gone. I turned to walk back and glimpsed fur on the roadside. Three young foxes lay on the berm. I could have tapped them with a toe but did not.
Instinct told them, “don’t move if you want to live.” They lay as flat to the ground as possible. Their eyes were paradoxically rolled up to the top of their heads, fixed on me, the large predatory threat above. In this pose they looked as though a cartoon artist had drawn them there, among the sparse roadside vegetation in the light of a half moon.
Their fur looked coarse with the guard hairs which protect wild creatures from briars and catch snow natures insulation for the body beneath. Under the guard hairs, the short fur next to the body would be soft as a duckling’s down, warm to the touch.
I did not try to touch the three. Foxes can give a painful bite and are known to carry disease, including rabies, but there was more to it than that. Seeing them here in the light of a half moon was a rare gift of nature, whom I have called my muse. I would intrude into their world no further.
Caught up in the magic of that moment, I nearly jumped when a fast-moving shape cut through the brush below; crashing through the woods as if it were a bear or a human. When I looked back down, the three were gone, following an adult fox to safety.
I have since pondered that distraction. Foxes can move silently. Why did the adult fox crash so noisily through the underbrush? It had to be an intentional distraction. It got me to look away as the three escaped. I was sure that these three would safely reach adulthood, though they certainly are gone by now, more than twenty years later.
 
For further reading:
Sally Carrigher gave close views of wild creatures in her books, including One day at Beetle Rock, The Twilight Seas, One day at Teton Marsh, and several others.
 
For the Reader:
Describe your own close encounter with a wild creature.

​Eye of the Beholder

​I rode in on the dirty dog, as they call the Greyhound bus, Ohio farm dirt still in my hair. At least I had the sense to clean the cow shit off my boots.

Then I briefly lost my luggage, or so I thought, standing there in the Port Authority of New York. They could call me any name in the book, or even a few that weren’t, but I was stubborn and would not get on that local to London, Connecticut, until I saw my duffle bag stuffed into the compartment underneath the bus.

Despite reassurances that my luggage would catch up with me, I remained steadfast until a man appeared driving the world’s smallest tractor. He pulled behind him a string of small carts with my duffle bag standing up in the first one. He just shook his head as he loaded it into the luggage compartment.

“Sit up front, son,” the driver said. “There aren’t that many passengers on Sunday Morning, not even at port authority. Keep your eyes peeled and I will show you one of the sights not on the official tour.” With those words, he backed the bus out and exited the bowels of that building through a grimy archway.

Born onto that city street, I shielded my eyes from the light and looked to my left.  There they were, lined up as they must often beat the precinct. Number three, take one step forward and turn left.

The driver turned his speaker system to public address and said, “Good morning, ladies.” One of them smiled and waved, as the others glared. “They think I’m bad for business,” he said.

​They were prettier than I would have expected, dressed in hot pants and leg warmers with the temperature not twenty degrees out. Now that’s dedication.
 
Commentary
The story is a performance piece, based on, but exaggerating actual events My writings identify me as a person most at home in the woods, but I have come to appreciate urban environments and realize that even the cityscapes are part of nature, what is sometimes called the “built environment.” Trees grow out of walls, nighthawks circle parking lots hunting insects, and migrating cranes sometimes circle downtown Chattanooga on their way to Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge. The book, Coming of Age at the End of Nature, with introduction by Bill McKibben and including essays by members of the millennial generation, addresses coming to peace with nature impacted by human activity.
 
For the Reader:
How do you respond to urban environments?
Where is wilderness in your world?
Do you see nature as ending or enduring?