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THE BOTTOM OF THIS HILL The bottom of this hill once had a black bear who peered up at us while we backed away and returned to the car all the while casting furtive backward glances and remarking how well fed he appeared. STAND STILL IN THE WOODS AND LISTEN Stand still in the woods and listen. Flocks twitter high in the distant trees, Crickets clap below this ridge With fellows replying from afar. My dogs settle in the grass, Their collars clink their licenses. A group of quail leap in fear; With feathery flaps and gentle coos They alight in a tree. A pine come drops through branches Softly landing in dry leaves, The breeze ruffles the desiccated grasses. Listen closely and witness seeds spreading. I turn and gaze toward the lake far below, Stand still in the woods and observe White wakes leading from tiny boats rushing over the waters, Sailboats winking white in the sun. The farm below is lush and green. Turning, I see people bob along the trail across the gully. They speak but distance skews the message. They do not know I'm here. CLOSE CALL They say close only counts in horseshoes and grenades But I’d also add curling And That Erratically flying White moth or butterfly That nearly collided With A Ponderosa trunk. LIKE PENDENT JEWELS Like pendent jewels Raindrops hang from a birch branch Refracting morning light Broadcasting beauty. Who will see Notice Perceive Assimilate Cherish? A line of mist follows the rise of the tree tops. This is beauty in motion, Eddies drifting and swirling. MUSHROOMING A wide-topped mushroom emerges from the forest floor, Its cap sports long sienna Ponderosa Pine needles And debris. Encumbered, it nevertheless is making a debut. It will be a mushroom even with the extra load it carries. This handicap will not stop it from appearing on cue And playing a role on the planet's scene. |
SANDHILL CRANES The soft trilling came from high overhead. Craning my neck I saw the chevron advancing against the blue. Wheeling, they broke into three groups: Fifteen survivors of the summer. Joining as a mass, breaking apart, Two plus three plus ten, Back together as fifteen, Trilling all the while, Gradually moving with the clouds toward the south east. A dragonfly crossed my field of vision, Still the trilling, A raven called nearby, Still the trilling in the background. I watched until they were obscured by trees. How many others have they mesmerized? A HILLSIDE OF GRASSES A hillside of grasses Bows under the dewy onslaught of the night’s raindrops. A wispy veil of cloud advances slowly down the lake. The gentle tug of wind moves tentatively, growing drifts of vapour, In minutes obscuring lake, mountain, and trees. Across Harrington Plateau it wafts with gentle but relentless power. The path leads me into this mist. I can see and be seen but as a shadow, gently blurred. Three luminous beads of last night’s rain clutch at twig ends. Plumped by the moist air, a world of lichens resides on branches, Fruiting bodies exposed, showing villages, towns, and cities of lichen growth. Expanding across the land, the cloud engulfs the mountain behind Peachland, Leaving trails of mist amongst the trees below, Then opening the scene to reveal the lake and Okanagan Mountain. The bottom of the drifting cloud spreads across Sheer Rock Cliff Lookout And now broods over the hills. If I was just a little bit taller, I could reach up and touch it. The fog-muffled woods delight me More than sunny slopes. The fog is breathing, This latest exhalation uncovering mountains, lake, woods. THERE'S A FROG IN THE GULLY There's a frog in the gully by the trail where I walk. He calls in the summer and his friends join in. Now late October all alone he croaks his call And seemingly only I hear and take delight in him. The fog is filling in the shadows As I walk the trails late on this October day. Too busy with promises to keep during the day I went as dusk approached. My night-adapted eyes Find the way along a familiar trail Manmade, narrow, and snaking uphill in a thread. The dogs lead. Night approaches, dew descends Clouds meet ground in fog. I become invisible. The frog is silenced. WINTER’S CLOSING IN The hummingbirds and Swainson's thrush Slipped away unnoticed. Grasshoppers are silenced, Birds have flocked, Autumn's here without a regal glow. Brown dead leaves, naked trees Reveal nature's bare bones: Branch-rock-dirt Will create anew in spring. But rest for now, Winter creeps closer Icing pools and crisping grass. She comes anon. |
