Home To Nest

It is surely the comfort
of tried-and-true expectations,
the confidence that what was there
will remain so, that urgently
persuades them to return.
Routine and familiarity alert
consciousness to the order of
the universe, as creatures
willingly succumb to urges
well beyond understanding
but which promise in some
dim recess of inherited memory,
fulfillment of destiny; nature's
clockwork existence.

As the hawks return to the
forest, whistling and screeching
their presence, they indulge in
wind-borne pyrotechnics to
exhibit their satisfied return.
And small, furred creatures
take heed.  High in a half-blasted
old pine another nest is assembled,
then occupied as owls prepare for
another breeding season.  The drake
and the duck again returned to
the shallow, turgid forest stream
dabble and proceed to nest.

Possession

It is as though a
malevolent spirit has
entered and taken random
possession of our thoughts
and our emotions, as
though we are helpless
and cannot rescue ourselves
from its jealous, manipulating
clutches, forcing us to
dwell upon this pain that
will not leave us.  The
phantom presence of the
loved one manifests the
depth of the wound not
amenable yet to the
salving effects of
distance between the
quick and the dead.

 

Becoming Old

They are changes, subtle
yet persistent, noted
in some remote recess
of the mind, but
relegated to the back,
ignored and unexamined,
present as a deep-seated
feeling of loss, a hum
of disquiet, surfacing
when we are most 
emotionally vulnerable,
as a tremor may warn
of impending collapse
and thoughts become
chaotic with confusion
and we fail to grasp
the significance of
decelerating functionality,
our physical sovereignty ebbing
and worn with a lifetime
of casual use, our senses
declining while distant
memories flood our sensory
system - other avenues
of plausible existence
fading the while all takes
on an unfamiliar hue as of a
witness to the final act of
someone's span of life.

The Clockwork Springs

Where, we wonder now, went

that spirit of benevolence

that surely inspired nature

to respect her own ancient pact

with the seasonal elements

assured by her majestic edict

that there is a time and a place

for everything and to each is

owed temporary advantage

eventually to be ceded to 

seasons whose time has come.

The wistful welcome each

allotted at their time of grace

ample regard in recognition of

timeless order of endless days.

The never-ending cycle of death

and birth, ruin and renewal as 

the Universe itself orders 

entropy, fusion, fission and being, 

dimensional and unseen, winding 

the clockwork springs of life.

Teasing Out Ferns

A glowering sky of shifting
clouds brazenly harassed by
domineering winds has
edged out the sun again.
But the forest floor,
littered with wild strawberry,
trout lily and trillium
seethes with energy and
colour; incessant spring rain
teasing out ferns and violets,
lilies-of-the-valley, regardless.


The bare canopy of deciduous
trees now hazing pale
green and gold performs a
graceful dance as the wind
courses its branches.  Leafless
yet fuzzed with white blossoms
the Serviceberries defy the
grey monotone of the day.
Birds stir soundlessly
through the melancholy of
the drab, damp landscape.

Camping In Canada

 

 Photographs: courtesy of J.S. Rosenfeld

 Elemental

The mysterious alchemy of

atmospheric conditions playing

their games of opposing forces

has led to a conflict of dominion

over this climate, unable to settle 

to a state of received moderation.

The wavering indecision of

nature, torn by the plaintive

entitlements of her elements has

created a vertigo of confusion,

each taking the initiative to assert

its own very particular presence.

The sky's gloomy clampdown

heavy and dank with grey-clotted

clouds invites the wind to usher

them briskly along, heaping below

rations of sleet and ice pellets.

That great warming ball of fire

burns cracks in the bruised ceiling

briefly liberating the brooding

atmosphere from despair.  To little

avail; the opposing forces of

darkness prevail, orb obscured.

Recurring brutalities storming

the environment in blizzards of 

inclemency victimize creatures

of the earth and the oceans, the air

and the regions of vulnerable

existence, bringing calamity after

misfortune through no fit

weather for man nor beast.

 

Mothers and Daughters

Persephone is at it again,

upsetting her mother

Demeter's plans; not quite

the usual tensions between

concerned mothers and their

independent-minded daughters

defiant and above reproach,

but close enough to qualify.

Mothers seek to clasp their

daughters too close to their

protective hearts; daughters

protest the stifling love.

Demeter, tasked by nature

to prepare the entrance of

spring, is no doubt distraught

her headstrong, heedless

offspring, so fond of sparkling

jewels in her Stygian palace,

plucked another ruby from the

pomegranate her adoring

husband proffered, promising

its exquisite burst upon her tongue

well worth her mother's wrath.

Leaf-sprouting trees, flowering

bulbs, and early spring wildflowers

all caught in the vortex surprise

of a late snowstorm whirling

upon them as winter obligingly

lingers, unconcerned at the

distress of early butterflies and

migrating birds regretting their

rash impulse to return to the

northern clime not yet resolved

toward warmth and rebirth.

Adventures With Button

Button - December 29, 1993 -- April 14, 2012

 Our Shared Grief

If our hearts are where loving

memory resides then mine is

clouded in bruised pain.  Look

closely, from the well of my eyes

springs tears I cannot restrain

in the chaos of my emotions.  Yet

we strain to honour his fear and

pain with our undivided attention

as he vibrantly ventilates in detail

describing the daily ordeal

his life has suddenly become.

Through his dread of final

physical decline arose the

neurosis compelling him to tax

his strength and endurance, in the

process inevitably exhausting his

fear yet unrealized, imposing

decay on the very body he sought

to render immune from entropy.

His most constant companions

now are his anguish over a

dim future arrived far too suddenly,

to becloud his near horizon,

accompanied by endless, grinding

hurt he is desperate to shed,

but cannot by any feasible means.

The very thought of the inevitable

distracts his steely resolve.

We listen, we empathize, we

murmur encouragement and

concern.  He does indeed look now

closely at the weeping well of my

eyes; perhaps some gratification

meets his soul as balm, little

realizing it is our pain I extrude

tears for; but if the spectacle

gives him comfort, I don't mind.

Stein Valley, British Columbia

Photographs courtesy of J.S. Rosenfeld

 

Owning The Sky

Closing out a frosted night, the

lid of the sky, left ajar, entirely

slipped open, and by dawn the

whispered message was, Look:

wide, clear and shimmering blue,

and in that corner of the immensity

of our university brilliant light

bestowing life beneath the vault.

Look now below, feel the breeze

wafting warmth to forest and

garden soils, shafts of star-mottled

light penetrating deep recesses of

winter shelter, nudging awake

creatures of the waters, the earth, the 

sky, all released, revived, revitalized

and alive with the season's vigour.

Shy anemones, violets and lilies

delicately dapple the landscape.

Through the green haze of emboldened

leaves flit butterflies and electric blue,

pulsating-in-the-sun dragonflies.  The

larvae of cattus-fly and water-striders

ripple the calm waterways.  Above, the

whistle of cardinals, the shriek of

returned hawks, owning the sky.