I stew in a pot of my juices
with only some mallards and gooses
to hear my complaint.
A pleasure I ain’t —
this, they say, they deduces.
Category Archives: Nature
March 29.20: Coping
Last night the lightning
tore up the sky;
now remnants gather
and wind sweeps them by,
face-planting the jonquils
into the mud,
ripping the petals
from yesterday’s bud.
No cheer to be had
from this morning’s dawn;
I don’t think I’ll keep calm
but I will carry on.
Saluting the British slogan which has served so well —
until we don’t WANT to keep calm.
March 27.20: Coping
‘Mid hyacinth and violet
unfolds the dainty thyme rosette;
lowering rusty sacroiliac,
I sniffed at it and it sniffed right back.
March 25.20: Coping
The pond always helps me cope. As a body of water, it couldn’t be humbler: a mere retention pond, gunky in the summer, lacking tide and horizon, held in entirety by a few back yards, it is little more than a puffed-up puddle. But I watch it with growing respect and affection. Occasionally I have been weak in the head and have presumed to know it. And then it teaches me I don’t know much.
Case in point: two days ago I spotted what I thought were ducks. Suddenly they were gone and the water was empty. Then they reappeared some place else. I was hallucinating ducks?
Naturally I ran for my camera with its zoom lens. With great ado, I caught a close-up but before I could focus and take a picture they were gone again. Only a flutter of the water remained.
To make an excruciatingly long story short, I ended up with a million bad photos and some time on Google. Now I know there is such a thing as diving ducks. Like quacking submarines: now you see them, now you don’t! And they have wonderful names! I believe mine are buffleheads. I want them to be buffleheads because I want to be able to say I have buffleheads.
I do try to avoid the word “cute,” but I can’t when describing these. As they paddled toward me, they looked like the cutest salt and pepper shakers I ever did see. Next to the mallards, mere toys.
I hope they come back.
March 22.20
The pond mirror
in leaden shinery
tells form
absent finery/
long-leggedy beastie
starkly spindly
twiggy as spring
winter-dwindly.
With thanks to the Bump-In-The-Night prayer.
Full disclosure, dear reader: I changed this post. A few hours after I posted it, different words started to poke around in my head. I didn’t ask for them. They just started bullying me.
March 1.20
Myriad the gentle frill
back from death
yet each time
I hold my breath.
March begins, dear reader, with tender shoots of hope.
Indoors, we cheat a little,
thanks to dear friends who send spring
in a basket.
February 29.20
This is why geese honk:
the ducks just sally on through,
in essence saluting the geese
with a “don’t-give-a-good-howdy-do.”
