Tag Archives: nature
GARDEN LESSON
There is nothing like a drought
to teach what life is all about.
Waiting for the rain to fall
is not sufficient to survive.
Tender patience does not thrive.
Buds remain closed, tucked and hidden
deep among leaves’ folds
offering a pace to hide.
Roots buckle down deep
and down, down, down
to depths they seldom explore;
knowing once the rains do come
they may open up closed doors.
Eventually, rains come, and even pour.
Rains batter plants stressed and sore;
opening caches held within their core.
It is only after sun appears
that plants let go their fears.
And in that moment plants flower,
Their faith in Nature restored.
Filed under POETRY
WHERE HAVE THE BUTTERFLIES GONE?
Hydrangeas move as if on a breeze.
A breeze of bees moving flower to flower
across lime green, blue and pink.
Across ruby red and native plants
their flowers do a pretty dance.
On this hot, dry day I watch bees play.
But, where have the butterflies gone?
They did not appear this year.
The yard is awash in colorful blooms
In past years butterflies found plenty of room
to feast and sleep a moment or two.
Butterfly bushes and butterfly weeds,
native plants and other species
await their return in sad revery.
I ask everyone I know,
“have you seen a butterfly this year?”
The answer is always a baffled, “No.”
Where did all the butterflies go?
And, will they ever return ?
Who knows? Like lovers spurned,
they may have found another garden
to replace my own.
I can only hope so, as I mourn
a topsy-survey world grown too warm.
Filed under POETRY
BEHOLD THE SKY
The river of color flows through the sky
weaving its way beneath and between
all that is seen and unseen.
Undulations of colors entwine
the energy of the divine
with the hopes of humankind.
We fear the sky’s fall
bending our knees
hiding our eyes,
until we lose sight
of the wonder of it all.
Motion and change delight
and yet, we cannot grasp hold
of what is before our sight.
And this loss of control over the diversity
and complexity of colorful skies
entraps and belies
a sense of self so small
it frightens us all.
The skies are not falling
simply because its colors shift.
The movement within the sky
can never send us adrift.
Gravity holds us all together,
keeps us spinning, it is true;
but, never allows us to go too far, too fast.
It helps make the moments last
until we can understand
what we stand under,
an open sky which belongs to all.
Look up and behold the sky.
Reach up to touch the clouds.
Dance in the wind, bathe in the rain.
Never lose hope ever again.
Filed under POETRY
COYOTE
The coyote leapt
over the stubbled grass hedges
along the pond’s edge.
Silent single goose
stares silently in stillness
on the rocky ledge.
Each day the numbers
dwindle among empty nests
where Spring and geese mourn.
Filed under POETRY
SNOW!
We often think that Spring brings our first hopes
of a new life, a new world, a new cause to celebrate.
We need not wait for Spring to hope.
Eight inches of snow fell silently and cloaked
the surfaces of note that set our scene,
a scene fearfully bleak which clouds all thoughts
of a fearless life, and hides the fear which lies below
our greatest hopes, limited by what, we do not know.
We fear the worst after watching the news
meant to keep us watching, our nerves hanging on every word.
Snow!
Snow changes our landscape in a moment.
The deeper the snow, the greater the wind,
the more we see of all the possibilities
to change the world we ache to know.
All darkness and decay disappears by end of day.
White whorls of snow cover every branch of every tree,
and shrub and shed. No tracks yet made by others
who share this place with me.
The sun rises in a fiercely blue sky and tracks appear
upon the new world of white light strewn across its face.
Snow!
Snow allows us to dream we can make all clean.
Our purity glows within each crystal caught by sunlight,
raising our spirits, capturing our innocence.
We believe we can change, too. All is right in a world draped in white.
My first hope does not wait for Spring.
It comes alive at the sight of the first big snow.
Snow reminds me that landscapes can change swiftly,
purely, beautifully aglow. Even war’s wounded landscapes
appear at peace when covered in snow.
Impoverished neighborhoods where crime rules breathe softly covered in snow.
Snow!
THE SQUIRRELS AND I
Squirrels multiply fast around here,
as fast as they run about the yard.
Three new nests in the Linden tree
have appeared,
Hidden by dense leaves
out of view.
The sun hides too.
Her light is now hidden by clouds.
She has stopped dancing amid shadows.
Like the squirrels I am too proud
to simply sit and wait for sun
to show her face.
Without sun
we barely know our place
in this darkened, cooling space.
We no longer dig and play
in garden beds anchored in clay.
The squirrels have stopped their foray
for bulbs planted a month ago,
ceased moving them to a new place
or worse, chewing or eating them first.
The squirrels, and I are nearly as dormant
as the perennials, and as scattered.
My body yearns to find its way,
to dig and plant, to weed and hoe.
It no longer drops onto the garden bench
to rest and watch the birds and bees.
I drop onto my nested couch instead.
The squirrels and I have grown
too cold, too weary
amid days as dark as night.
The squirrels and I have become too quiet.
Sun’s warming disposition
no longer lightens nor warms us.
Birds no longer join us in chorus
as we hummed alongside the busy bees.
Neither of us are ready
for the coming deep-freeze.
We squirrel away.
I on my Netflix couch;
the squirrels find their own
entertainment and playful connection
I remain ignorant of those;
and, so, I and cannot mention
what keeps them tight inside.
My own tightness will not subside
no matter how hard I try.
I cannot blame the sun.
She still hangs overhead.
Like the squirrels and I
she has decided to hide.
Filed under POETRY
SUNRISE
The sky alights as do I.
Sun fills the fibers from head to toe.
Sun awakens so I must go.
I must go follow the sun it seems
or languish within startling dreams.
I prefer reality to map my way out of night.
I prefer a mind and heart filled with light.
Shadows always fall behind me.
Darkness no longer blinds me
though I am on unfamiliar paths
and the light will not last.
For a few hours, at least,
I progress past the breach
where it would be easy to fall
onto hopes covered by a pall.
Light guides my way
for another day.
It no longer matters if I know
exactly where I am meant to go.
I simply take delight
that it is not yet night.
This, then, is the destination
for each soul and every nation.
Be in the here. Be in the now.
Let this be our solemn vow.
As difficult as it is to follow the sun,
humanity’s journey has just begun.
There will always be another night.
Sunrise always returns to give us light.
Filed under POETRY
AUTUMN SONG
The birds and I are bereft of their brethren.
Eagles have left their nest along the Scioto behind.
Egrets and herons have left their stance in the ponds
to return to a hidden pre-historic time.
The ponds nearby are no longer over-run by geese on the fly.
Hummingbirds no longer hover and pass by.
Too quiet and too tame is the garden scene;
no more fights over the bird bath.
No more winners to take wet bows.
Choruses no longer compete.
All is quiet except for the short, solemn cheep
of a brown sparrow looking for lost insects in the heap
of dropping leaves and wilting flower heads
weighed down by darkening-swelling seeds,
and cold nights, and morning fogs.
Winter’s notes hang briefly in the autumn air
drowning out bird song, as bees and insects weep.
The sun rises too low, for too short the hours needed
to warm the squirrels’ bowers and keep them safe.
Even faithful house wrens have moved on
taking with them a suitcase of song.
I remain behind, unable to follow along.
Night no longer allows the body to count
breaths in and breaths out, unable to time
the body’s rise and fall.
Quickened change distorts all
the moments of our lives.
We no longer know where we come from,
nor where we go.
Autumn is all upheaval
so much so
that we yearn for the heavy weight
of winter’s blanket of snow
to comfort us and control our breath,
to hold us safe, to hold us tight,
to quietly get us through the darkest night.
And so, I rise at first light
to gain as much insight
as shorter days allow.
I take up my pen and write
the silent rhythm of Autumn’s song.
I sing with all my quiet might.
Come, and sing along.
Filed under POETRY
SOLEMN VOW
Where does my world begin and end?
Before the horizon or beyond it to some unknown shore
That has only appeared in my dreams before?
Is my world worth saving, again and again.
Are we simply so tired we do not mind it could end?
Helpless, it seems, I am to do more.
Technology now must save the day
as I find my own simple way
to save and protect all that I love.
I cannot sit still and not do my part.
I must give it my all, and give you all my heart.
I plant native plants and trees,
flowers whose blooms dance in fierce breeze.
Butterflies and bees swoop in and sip
the nectar of gods, nip after nip.
I feed the homeless and shelter those displaced
by flood, fire, crime, famine and war.
I visit the isolated and phone the lonely.
I stay healthy enough to stay earth-bound a few days more
to love those far away and those close around me.
I fold my hands and grip my rosary beads
praying those with power and ability
know what to do and how to succeed.
I love this Earth, its flora and fauna;
its sunrises and sunsets and all in between.
I love its sunny days and cloudless blue skies;
and days when storms hide sun behind a screen.
There is no place in the universe that I would rather be
than right here with you, as we face such adversity.
My hope lies in science and those drenched in creativity
who see beyond today to a future of love and harmony;
not just for all the people of the Earth
but for Earth herself who offers us sanctuary
within the endless energy of planetary boundaries.
Where does my world begin and end?
Right here, with you, right now.
This is a solemn vow.
take it and make it
your own
somehow.
annarino writes 