The maple seeds met the branches of the dead
On their way to the Earth.
Tumbling and falling through the leafless and lifeless
Creating skittering tones like skeleton fingertips
Drumming on the hollows of trees.
The maple seeds met the branches of the dead
On their way to the Earth.
Tumbling and falling through the leafless and lifeless
Creating skittering tones like skeleton fingertips
Drumming on the hollows of trees.
You’re not very pretty
Said little girl to tree
Looking at the hardened buds
That’s all that she could see.
They surveyed one another
In the warm spring air.
The tree old and grizzled
While the girl was splendid and fair.
There is magic yet within me
The ancient wood explained
All I need is the warming sun
And the chilly April rain.
The little girl scoffed and left
Not believing what the tree said
To the girl, the tree didn’t resemble life
The bare branches to her looked dead.
But when she returned in three days’ time
A fantastical sight did she behold
The tree in wondrous splendor
It left her speechless to behold
For each of the buds on the tree had burst
Into blossoms rosy and white
Its secret revealed for all to see
She was awestruck at the sight
Resting her head on the trunk
She silently apologized
The tree in response told her instead
Let this lesson make you wise.
Do not judge by appearance alone
You never know what’s inside
Even the ugliest of forms
Have beauty trapped inside.
And while this is old adage true
The reverse can also be
Beauty can hide the ugliness
It’s all in the way you see.
Movement outside the window
Catches my eye.
A flick of a tail on a suspended
String of lights
Hello old friend,
You survived another winter
And have returned.
Another nest to build.
Another family to raise
Under the protective eaves
Of my porch.
My heart smiles.
Welcome home.
Two days ago it was
Enjoyable enough to sit outside,
T-shirt bared arms warming in the
Early spring sun.
Buds starting to pop
On branches.
Trees and humans alike
Foolishly thinking
Winter was finally over.
Somewhere
Mother Nature
Threw her head back
And laughed.
The colors of this late winter day
Are muted.
Ashy snow-threatening sky
White birch trees stand tall
Planted in the dirty snow.
Even the pine trees exude
A verdant boredom.
Then a flash of red sparks
Through the air.
Then a second
And a third.
Three wondrously colored
Cardinals alight on the
Cold.
I watch them flit from
Tree to tree.
Their delicate winged ballet
Enthralling me.
Reminding me that
Spring is not far away.
“I feel like I’m in a slo-mo version of The Birds.” I found myself thinking this afternoon, while I was outside with my dog. To the left of me, half of the flock of turkeys was moving around the perimeter of my property towards the back. I watched them moving through the trees, their clumsy-looking bodies moving with surprising slow grace. I watched them for a minute or two and then turned my attention back to my dog, who was playing “rockey.” Rockey is his favorite winter sport where he pushes a rock across the crusty snow and then chases and pounces on it. It’s pretty funny to watch. Anyway, my attention on him was stolen by movement out of the corner of my eye. The other half of the turkey flock was crossing the property to the right of me. My mind drifted to an image of the two halves of the flock meeting in the yard of my neighbor behind me. The flock and I have an uneasy truce. Even though he’s getting better, my dog still tends to chase them when they are in my yard. The central part of the day, they have learned to avoid my backyard. But, evidence of their early morning visits is seen in the ghostly trails of dinosaur-like tracks in the snow that crisscross my entire yard. It’s a weirdly beautiful co-existence we’ve created.
The hissing snow is the
Only sound
On a quiet grey-skied day.
The aural orchestra of
Millions of crystals
Crashing to the ground
And breaking.
Sitting on the back step
Squinting against the sun
That bounces off the
Crystal white ground
Snow flutters
Like powdered sugar
On the icy breeze.
The air so heavy
And still.
Except for the
Occasional
Loud crack
Issuing from
The large frozen limbs
That arch over the
Woodland.
My dog stands rooted to the
Spot where he stands.
I have called him
But in his mind
He can’t obey.
His usually verdant yard
Is now covered
In splotchy grey ice.
Some primal instinct
Is speaking to him.
Telling him not to go across.
The hard frozen surface.
I watch him and feel
His mind working.
Looking right and left
He finally finds
His way back to me
And jumps up,
Pleased with himself
And this reunion.
There are odd feelings
On the wind
Today.
Anticipation.
A primitive wariness.
Fearful excitement
There’s a storm coming
Soon enough those feelings will
Start flittering down
From the sky as
Frozen flakes of snow.
Hour after hour
Drifting and blowing
Covering the world
In white.