July 2.22: Coping, but barely

A puddle in a path

divides the population

in two distinctive camps

of opposite persuasion.

One must forge ahead

to know where this path goes;

the other shrinks from earth

that gushes ‘twixt the toes.

That second would be me,

uncurious when it comes

to mud or bugs or slithering;

my adventurousness succumbs.

I prefer the no-itch life,

sufficient just a look;

I’ll follow muddy paths

in air-conditioned book.

 

I may not be the outdoorsy type,

but I know beauty when I see it.

A salute to those who care for our green spaces.

Ritchey Woods Nature Preserve,

Fishers, IN.

September 21.19

Quo vadis?

In pools of shade

in flutters of green wings

in columned seclusion

the question:

where are you going?

The hard grey path

inquires.

You do not escape

life questions

in the woods.

 

Thanks yet again to photographer S.W. Berg.

 

 

 

February 2.19

 

The deep deep woods

is guarded by

a small small troll

two inches high;

he’ll challenge you

with round round eye

in little hole —

a sly sly spy.

If you would walk

his white white earth,

you pay his toll,

the tax on worth,

not in penny-ante cents

but still still pause

of reverence.

 

 

With many thanks to photographer Mary Jo Bassett.

And also thanks to Johnny Gruelle,

who introduced me to the deep deep woods in his Raggedy Ann stories ever so long ago.

 

Disconnections: December 8.18

 

If Rumpelstiltskin were just a story

how came these beds of golden glory

how else explain the gilded wrap

for leaf and acorn winter nap?

 

 

 

Connections: April 18.18

My eye fixed on the ground

I sought the flowers of spring

then upward raised my lens

to capture sky and wing.

That was when I spotted

this behemoth on the tilt

sending me the message

I’m not so sturdy built.

The towering defunct giant

leaned into slender groove

it didn’t take me long

to decide that I should move.

 

 

Connections

 

 

Connections: February 15.18

 

Footprints

gone mid-stride

unwalked path

life untried

horizons lost

no tomorrow

the right to bear

bloody sorrow.

 

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.

Connections

 

 

Connections: February 10.18

Whose woods these are

springs right to mind

as writer I admit

I find

I’m compelled to sigh

my muse is smitten

by words I wish

that I had written.

 

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

Connections

Connections: February 6.18

Balustrade in the woods

wants authenticity

neither built by squirrels

nor grown spontaneously.

Its lines and neat-hewed angles

perhaps herein discordant

but for those of certain age

orthopedically accordant.

 

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.

Connections

 

 

Connections: February 21.17

Winter woods

barren ossuary

stretching, stiff

in sunny February.

Connections

Connections: January 28.17

Crumpled

something tall and proud

lies felled

death took it

then blade

now knelled

in crackling whisper

as kin mark

their own sure geld

respectfully distant

from remnants

sentinel’d

in tender long shadows

shrouded

farewelled.

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives,

Vernon Hill Gallery.

Connections