Ode To Youth
When he was bright and
new to life he was
perfection in form and
essence personified. Nature
herself must have spent
painstaking hours in research
and development to breed
a living, trotting, emotive
toy. Wherever he went
adoring crowds followed
eager to view him, touch
him, hold him And he,
grand master in his
Lilliputian world, reciprocated
allowing himself on display
to be held and endlessly
admired. As we all grow
old, so has he, and adoration
no longer enthuses him
for he can no longer hear
the squeals of joy his
presence elicits, and wishes
to be held only by us, our
elderly little companion.
Still sweet to behold, but
exceedingly cantankerous,
bald, sight-impaired with age.
Afternoon Sun
The forest path is crusted
with frozen snow and ice
patches. Wind has whipped
layers of snow from the latest
storm off tree trunks and
limbs to coat the forest floor.
Winter-bare trunks and
needled boughs reach up
to a baby-blue sky with
scalloped-white clouds
scudding swiftly across
the sweep of the heavens.
The late afternoon sun
glances its benediction
through the chill landscape.
Winter Radiance
The sun, a wanly golden disk
in the vast blue of an icy winter
day yet glimmers and scintillates
through pine and hemlock boughs,
its winter radiance hinting of warmth
it cannot provide to the woodland
creatures seeking shelter wherever
they may in the reality of wicked
wind gusts stretching wretched fingers
of ice into vulnerable huddling
birds and mammals witnessing
ephemeral hazes of wind-whipped
snow from among high perches
entering the very crevices
of infinitely minuscule spaces
between shuddering feather and fur.
Woodland Windstorm
Moaning and groaning in a
rage of belligerence the wind
bellows and whistles through
the canopy of the winter forest,
howling like a demented,
ill-tempered old man berating
the unfortunates attempting
to placate his geriatric fury.
A confluence of snow and
cold and bitter wind envelopes
the forest in brittle survival
mode, trees stiff with frozen
terror clacking their masts
in a frenzied harmony of
hapless dismay at the violence
their landscape is beset with.
Seasons
In gentle clusters weaving
in the slow, cold wind of
early winter, snow gathers
on tree trunks, branches
and needles of pine and spruce,
hemlock and fir, limning
their surfaces in startling
white against the sere backdrop
that fall has left awaiting
winter's entrance. The morning
dawned with a silver sky, no
need for clouds as heaven
released an unremitting
veil of ethereal flakes
misting the atmosphere
bewitching the landscape,
sending woodland creatures
to a mad frenzy of late-season
foraging in a depleted cupboard,
nature's bounty temporarily
exhausted, awaiting spring.
The Winter Clique
It was an exclusive little
party. Nature sent her invitation
only to fall and winter advising
cold it might remain in strictly
observer mode, and wind to
hold counsel for the nonce.
Then in dredging memory recall
and artistic contemplation she
drew forward her paintbox
preparing to etch a panorama
setting the stage for more to come
informing her guests they might
indulge along with her, but
their selections would be
constrained to the subtle palette
of ivories, chalk and mellow creams.
Fall dissembled, insisting on shades
of grey and tan even as greens and
golds, reds and purple-pinks were
summarily discarded. Winter wisely
selected white ingratiating himself
to Nature's powerful majesty.
Truculent fall has been sent into
the disgrace of a year's exile.
To Each His Own
Sometimes when you tell
an old acquaintance whom you
haven't seen in ages that he
looks really well you may for
once be sincere, because he does,
his enthusiasm for a change in
lifestyle affecting an alternative
in outlook, values and satisfaction
and you can empathize seeing
his aroused new pleasure in life
the results plainly evident before
you. Even if for you his choice
makes no sense and exerts no
pull of curiosity or envy since
living your life your way with
its benefits far outweighing
the deficits that led him to
discover his own personal
salvation through his life's
finite journey to its conclusion
convinces you of his error.
