In search of story


Connections: April 25.18

The tulips languish, sodden,

(those not by rabbit eaten)

jonquils merely leaf

cold-weary, winter-beaten.

A miser’s hand apportions

the flowering of this spring

there’s scant delight in the meadow

and nary a daffy-down-dilling.

But from windless cozy house

a trumpeting four-in-one

sings out to the colorless garden:

“I’ll show you how it’s done!”

It quadruple megaphones

“You can be like me, yay, verily!”

the concerted garden response

comes back somewhat raspberrily.



With thanks and apologies to Shakespeare.




Musings on wild life: February 1.18

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit!

That, as you may remember, was my mother’s incantation on the first of every month. I’m not sure why except for the twelve rabbits’ feet involved.

I am not enamored of rabbits, as you know if you’ve read my blog for a while. They are the garden’s Visigoths and nothing can withstand their onslaught. Here, in the wee hours of one winter morning, by the light of the lamppost, I spotted one of their kind. It was huge. And obviously reconnoitering. Duly noted, you furry pig!

I am equally not enamored of Canadian geese, as you also know from my blog. They, however, are enamored of this retention pond. Why Mother Nature, who came up with the song of the lark and the wren, invented the honk of the goose is explainable only in terms of her caustic sense of humor.

Then, of course, the ants. Oh, they keep on a-comin’. At first in my desk. Now along the baseboard and up through the furnace vent in the dining room. Yesterday I was out in the cold mud dousing the side of my new house with Home Defense. In January? Really?

Having lived in California, I know about ants, which there put earthquakes to shame in terms of intimidation. They come like an undertow and pull you to your knees.

But this is Indiana, which, though definitely ant-ridden, usually doesn’t let the little rotters out mid-winter.

And have you ever noticed how observing ants can make you itch?

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, dear reader!



Connections: May 25.17

It’s a two-rabbit morning

the clover fresh and sweet

crisped by morning rain

the neighbors can’t compete.

My back yard’s never treated

as lawn, it’s a disgrace

but as alfresco salad

it’s a four-star eating place.

So I allow them peaceful dining

so grossly appetited

until they eye my garden

when they are promptly disinvited.



Connections: May 21.17

What’s in a back yard?

A little grass, a little sun

a little bit of garden

a little bit of fun

a haven for the rabbits

where dandelions bloom

the fresh-aired open-concept

original family room

where games and make-believe

work and play combine

but victim of aesthetics:

I miss the old clothesline.



Connections: February 1.17

dsc00238Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit!

my mother used to say

the first of every month

to keep bad luck away.

Did she teach me superstition?

Never. Not a trace.

But I’m going to say it anyway

you know — just in case.

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, dear reader!

And thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives,

Vernon Hill Gallery.



Connections: July 7

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERAYou may recall, dear reader,

I’ve skirmished and I’ve battled

against these long-eared monsters

until I am quite addled.

My back yard smells like garlic

the air of phlox destroyed

yet he can sit and stare at me

as though he’s the one annoyed.

My once pacific spirit

from violence aloof

now sees this toothy glutton

as earmuffs on the hoof.


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Connections: May 13

2012-07 - 05 - RabbitWhat? Me superstitious?

Perish the thought.

But on Friday 13

I do what I ought:

I offer a rabbit’s foot

good luck may it bring

matter of fact

you can have the whole thing.

These bottomless pits

eating machines

obliterate gardens

from lilies to beans.

I cannot imagine

sorrier truck

than this fluffy-tailed pestilence

brings any good luck.

Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.