Nature's Kennels

Their sire, knowing not
the least bit about
biological inheritance
must have aspired to be
a racehorse, their dam
the epitome of liquid grace
for their genetic endowment
is rife with both, along with
a sense of entitled mischief
profoundly fraught with
an entertainment factor
as a pair of authentic
show-offs, pushing the
envelope on our willingness
to live with two truly wild
little beasts, black and wiry
swift and oh so clever
daring demons on loan
from nature's kennels. 

Nature's Refuge

From the first blush of dawn
when the garden welcomes
light shimmering on overnight
dew, to the shaded glaze of
evening twilight, visitors drop
randomly by without so 
much as a by-your-leave
delighting with their presence.
The cardinal's trill welcoming
the sun, the goldfinch flashing
from birdbath to shrubbery
and the afternoon bees and
butterflies animate my garden
like living jewels enhancing
the brilliance of colourful
blooms, the structure of 
foliage, the fragrance of plants
of purpose and delight. The
overnight visits of raccoons
unseen but for their careful
selection from the compost,
lid set neatly aside. Morning
glories and nasturtiums absorb
the warmth of the sun, framing
the garden fence. Roses and
hydrangeas, lilies and geraniums
colour the world of my garden
that nature shares with me.

Generations

She is invariably sour
and predictably dour, as
unusual as it seems in one
so young. Where is the joy
that should consume youth?
Were we back in our early
days so puzzlingly self-obsessed
and cynical, critical of everything
yet idealistic in outlook leading
us to reject the prevailing
social contract? Her oppositional
disposition will serve her well
in her chosen profession of law
presumably, far less so in her
future intimate relations where
trust and love are linked, not
the continual urge to probe
to thrust, to parry and to
deride without end. Love is
assured from family, but friends
may elude, for life is too short
to waste in rejection.

 

Falling ... Falling

My, such exuberance in one
so aged, expressed by the
bouncing flight down a graceful
set of stairs, in a lovely home.
The imp of impulse is the
devil's apprentice. Elderly
the woman of that house may be
but she nonetheless rushes about
as though time is trickling
through the hourglass of her life
all too swiftly and she races to
catch abreast of it. This time
the imp prodded her to greater
speed and she flew, feet 
hovering on the risers, too
fleet and too evasive in their
rush for the security of contact.
She rocketed and she tumbled;
nothing elegant about her
scramble of outstretched arms
and legs akimbo, briefly 
touching on each of the many
treads on the grand stairway
and it was, finally, her head
whose cranium cracked on
the marble tiles below with a
sharp, resounding thud of
finality. But not to worry, no harm 
done. Oh well, relatively speaking.

The Misanthrope

Just as well that
the nature of Nature
is to create unendingly
and without bias, leaving
her creatures to the struggle
of the primary focus
of survival. Just as
well it is not in her nature
to sit back and contemplate
what she has wrought
but she obviously finds
no value in sitting in
judgement by evaluating
worth. That said, if she
were in the least wise
contemplative she would
surely despair at the
bulk of humanity
with their pitiful egos
desperate envy and
violently expressive distemper.

Sleep-walking

This stiff-upper-lip voice
floating at me
through my radio;
this upper-class British voice
that I alternately envy and deride, describing
new research into the incidence
of sleep-walking, and one of the symptoms,
one of the ways you can tell
is by the victim's (?) GLAZED EYES.
Is that how?
Could be my life is one
whole sleep-walking experience.
And he goes on to say
it's a fallacy; they don't die of shock
if precipitately
brought out of their sleep-walking, then
goes on to give an example of some woman
who had an 'unfortunate'
tendency to sleep-walk
in the wee hours of the morning 
- naked - and that's
how her husband invariably discovered her:
walking the streets, naked.
'It distressed her husband
enormously' the voice said. Well yes, it would.
But women are like that
always dreaming of
walking the streets,
though few of us do it
naked
and fewer yet
die of mortification when
precipitately brought to reality.

There Is No Soul

While a score of angels
danced a galliard
    on the head of a pin
Frederick II of Prussia,
  priding himself on
     intelligent pragmatism,
indulged in experimentation;
  the progenitor of a 
     brave new creed --
science became a prerogative
  of state.
He ordered a man to be
     sealed in a jar -- somewhat
like a thousand-year-old egg,
though he knew he wouldn't
have to wait the millennium
                 for ripeness.

Unsealing the jar after the
  appropriate deathtime,
       he gazed in fond wonder
at the remains, and scrubbing
  around in there, daintily
       picked at the bones.
Nowhere, he exulted, was there
  sign of the ineffable! Not
       to be seen was that
                   ephemeral thing
  known as the soul and he
scribbled in his neat script
                   'There is no soul!'
Much predating Nietzsche, who
  would later paraphrase him.
The angels whirled and laughed
  in their dancing madness.

 

Caught In Perfection

Well, how about that, we were
caught out in the woods again
with rain pattering softly above.
True, the sky was crowded with
clouds elbowing each other
aside thanks to an enabling
high wind, but we were
oblivious to the forecast
eager and willing to challenge
the chance, refused to turn back
and extended the hike because
one does not knowingly choose
to evade perfection. Not too warm
nor too cool, though the atmosphere
was humid, a raven croaking
its pleasure in the day, and so
we proceeded. The sight of 
asters and goldenrod, wild ripe
apples, newly emerged fungi 
on the forest floor
captured our vision, while
the canopy under the weeping
sky sheltered us. Outside the
forest confines all was drenched.

 

Apocrypha

In the beginning
there was chaos, but then a gregarious atom
encouraged a clubby atmosphere
where they all gathered and there was order.

At first there were hot gasses, but then
cool season prevailed and
minerals and metals crusted the fires.

One lone amoeba suffered incurable hubris;
thought she could do better
and founded a dynasty
on her vision.

In time a she-ape clambered down from the trees,
pointed at the sea and declared 'there is my creatrix!'
Named her daughter Eve,

and set her the task of naming others. So Eve
chatted up giraffes and elephants,
whales and crickets. She called
a brash Adamai snake-in-the grass

for offering her figs when she
couldn't give a damnation
for his ignorance. Everything
was fine until he learned to
wield a pen while she

continued to till the earth.
Eve provided crops for their
offspring and Adam pushed
back the night of eternity,
offering superiority and his

own rendering of ineffable truth: that of himself
as Supreme Creator, half of him
up there, the other down here.

 Elderly Lapse

Her name called but saw no one
her startled gaze could identify.
Still, there before her, the
beaming face of a large, florid
woman repeating her name,
someone totally unfamiliar. She
smiled tentatively as the woman
once again gushed her name 
then mentioned the workplace
a place she had retired from 
twenty years ago. She apologized
citing age as an excuse, and
fading memory. The woman
laughed graciously, said no
wonder recognition eluded
she is now grey and thirty pounds
heavier herself but you, she said,
look exactly like the woman
for whom a surprise retirement
party drew everyone, and then
she sang the chorus of the song
written to honour the retiree, 
to see her off to a new life of 
leisure. 'You picked a fine time 
to leave us' they had sung in 
unison. And, she mused
to herself, she certainly had.

Bargain Hunting

Their pale wrinkled faces in a
rictus of righteous indignation
the elderly couple was caught in
a frenzy of blame and 'gotcha', the
harried cashier placatory, apologetic
on behalf of herself, the store that
employed her, her extended family
her city and the obvious fallibility
of commercial transactions failing
to meet the exacting standards
of bargain hunters like the two
before her, trembling with the fury 
of shoppers whose dissatisfaction
was clearly monumental. Not that
the elderly pair was representative
of a poverty-stricken underclass;
their entitlement was that of
comfortably well-off pensioners.
They had been on their regular
round of supermarkets, advertisements
and coupons in hand, an item here,
another there, several from another
source. In this supermarket their
basket held four items, and two
were of the two-for variety. Clerks
were dispatched by the cashier to
the shelves and oh dear, there was
a misunderstanding in the shoppers'
interpretation, not sale items at all.
Their faces turned apoplectic in a
staring competition, when the head
cashier hurried over to assure them
of a concession, the items on sale
for them alone after all, as the
triumphantly gloating pair paid by
debit card and shoppers behind
patiently waiting, rolled their eyes.

 

Life's Transients

Strolling through the woods
of our urban forest yesterday
our two mischievous puppies
ambling along, suddenly accosting
us albeit tentatively though
deliberately, a baby squirrel and not
the first time this has occurred.
Its delicate presence alarmingly
trusting while we feared for its
safety, holding back the puppies
curious and no doubt eager to
play. Nature has ill equipped
this little creature to survive.
Today, in the evening dusk of
our garden another vulnerable
creature, velvety-grey fur, tiny
paws and claws, just recently
left the nest as another potential
survival casualty; somehow injured.
Once more, the puppies gathered
and were restrained, then a softly
gloved hand tenderly scooped the
minuscule mouse to walk it to
the woods in the hope it might
endure somehow, and live.

 

Heavenly Experiment

As laboratories go, this one
is supreme above all others, a
veritable crucible of existence
where experiments never stop,
as some unknowable force's curiosity
is spurred and sated. Time and space
lend themselves to the infinite
preoccupation. Entropy and flux,
chemical reactions, electrical
impulses, minerals and gases
intersect and interact, a never
ending drama of display and
surprise, suspense and discovery.
Today the laboratory was a study
in blue and white, illuminated by
a fiery ball of hydrogen as an
immense beaker of curdled milk
was upended, then spilled below. 

Japanese Beetles

It goes against the grain of
good manners when total strangers
feel somehow entitled to enter
property not their own and
indulge in looting at your expense.
True, they are beautiful but
dining out voraciously on that
merit alone does them no credit.
Their eggs sprout larvae that
consume the roots of our lawn
then the adults conspire to shock
at their lascivious hedonism
copulating wildly, taking time off
to indulge in destroying prized
garden specimens. As invasive
species whom no one invited 
into our garden, they have taken
with unseemly gusto to our
innocent corkscrew hazel, 
munching the foliage so the tree
appears desolate. Then they turn
their greedy sights on our roses,
those creatures bent on defoliating
our garden Though their iridescent
bronze-green carapace is spectacular
and their flight fascinating, we 
are not the least bit amused.

 

The Searing Wind

The wind hurtles scorchingly
through the heat-withered
landscape, no relief in its movement
to be had. The sun, unrestrained
by clouds, lording it over a vast
sky of relentless blue baking
all that it illuminates below.
Foliage turns ashen green in
wilt under the full glare of the
afternoon, turning prematurely
wizened, defoliating and drifting
to the forest floor, a distress of
the baking atmosphere. Goldfinches
flit silently through conifers
stoically enduring what they cannot
influence as the small mammals
of the woodland haven hide
conserving energy in instinctive
survival reaction to nature's
random existential challenges.

Obituary

It hit her consciousness like a
guided missile, but the effect
was not lethal, merely after all
these years, indifference. There
were the loving acknowledgements
beloved mother, father predeceased
two sons and a daughter remaining
to mourn. Oh yes, of course, two
grandsons. No mention made of
a granddaughter; obviously none
exists. She knows the names but
not their bearers. Strangers, they
all are, her father included. No
interest whatever in recognizing
her presence. She had puzzled
as a child that others had fathers
and two sets of grandparents.
She has long since accommodated
herself to her reality: mother,
maternal grandparents, ample love.

Burning Fog

The forest canopy still dripped
from the sky's brimming bowl dipped
through the twilight hours and
the dark of night, but now a bluejay
perched on the dark tip of a 
dead old pine urged nature to relent. 
Dawn muffled the landscape in
fog, densely opaque, no challenge
too far for that oven baking the
upper atmosphere, releasing light 
and firing humidity to the boiling
point. Still, the bluejay, an avian
optimist, pealed its trust in its
maker's better nature. A light rain
descended until reluctantly, the
clouds were swept in a tidy heap
to release the sky and offer full
reign to the conquest of the sun.

Two Of A Kind

Neither, however, is particularly
kind, though they are one of a
kind. But then they are impervious
to emotion since nature has set
them a most particular task to be
fulfilled in lock-step with her grand
design of existence and renewal.
These two have so much in
common between them, for they
rule over all things counted as
living matter sentient or not,
makes no difference. Neither can
be avoided, both are inevitable,
relentless in their pursuit of
finality. Each has its function
as they work in an inexorable
partnership: Time and Death. Each
pursues life in an endless circuit
of progress and decline; stealthily,
patiently, issuing no warning
surprising us in unguarded moments
relieving us of everything. Time
ensnares us, Death captures us.

 

Nature's Game

Setting off on that woodland hike
bruised clouds sailed overhead
though blue sky and sun had
briefly made an entry sending
us off with warmth at our backs
and a breeze to speed us on. The
day's endless rain events sent
showers sprinkling on our heads
from the saturated canopy
but we were secure in the prudence
of our decision to take along
raincoats for two little dogs
and folding umbrellas for us.
As the filtered light in the forest
grew progressively dimmer
the approaching warning of
thunder threatened, then the
drumming of rain on the foliage.
Sheltered under overhanging
limbs, we unfurled our raingear
then waited and watched rivulets
appear on the forest floor and 
puddles patterned by the fall
of heavy fat raindrops. Branches
drooped under the weight of the
storm while the sodden atmosphere
and dim light dramatically
heightened the storm's presence.
A living, very personal introduction
to nature's polarizing events
interspersing pleasantries of
gentle summer breezes and blue
skies convincingly arguing clearing.

 

Alienation

The untold wonders of modern
technology. At nineteen, the
Internet a veritable fount of
surprising information. She
hardly recalls how he looked,
her father, remembers not one thing
about her grandparents who felt
pained acknowledging her
very existence, thought her
mother a whore, bypassing the
sacrament of marriage, though
the relationship was of twenty
years' duration. One day of idle
thought she set aside her constant
resentment that she meant less
than nothing to them all; father,
uncle, aunt and grandparents. No
effort ever extended over those
sixteen years as she outgrew
her childhood to see her, know
of her, celebrate her existence.
Google and Facebook became
marvels of revelation: grandfather
dead at 87, his obituary dated the
year previous. Aunt widowed at
42, childless. Her father childless
as well but for her, and living
nearby. Uncle who knows, not
Internet-conversant. And at 82
grandmother, posted the aunt, died
that very day of the search.

 

This Morning

This morning after the night's
rainfall the garden sparkled
with the lustre of rain casting
shades and tones of floral
colouration otherwise unseen,
foliage gently laden with shimmering
translucent pearls of water
magnifying their beauty in an
exuberance of natural design.
A cardinal sat high in a tree
trilling its delight with the
morning's promise, then gracefully
descended to the pure, clear water
resting in a bird bath vacated
by a pair of goldfinches, their
flight appearing as though the
brightest and boldest of the
garden's flowers had suddenly
become animated, leaving the
sodden garden soil for the new
exhilaration of adventurous flight.

A Dog's Life

How would we fare in
realizing our potential equal
to our intelligence and future
social balance if we were taken
from our mothers after weaning
then sold to utter strangers
to do with us as they wished,
patterned at a vulnerably
malleable and emotionally
dependent stage in life to 
obey above all and to submit
to the reality that we are
owned, not in any measure
free of coercion, expected to
function at someone's whim?
Herder, companion, disability
guide, watchdog, or pampered
pet, subordinate and subservient
to those who may be temperate
and measured or maliciously
cruel, one thing is certain
above all, it's a dog's life.

The Living Garden

Among the ornamental dwarf
trees, the shrubbery and
flowering plants, the garden
hosts a micro-world of residents
entitled through a covenant
with nature to be regarded as
denizens in perpetuity, their
presence animating the atmosphere
in an ongoing drama of glimpsed
activities, from the acrobatics
of the red squirrel and its
conspicuous outrage at the
sometimes-presence of black
cousins, to the night-time raids
of bandit-masked raccoons
delving deep into the compost
bins, delicately skilled in
removing lids, scrupulously
selecting tidbits, and the cardinals
whose brilliant plumage shames
rosebuds, resting on branches
below the bird feeder brimming
with seeds. The lone dove
invariably lingering when the
pairs have abandoned the seeds
fallen from above, ambles about
possessively, firm in its belief
that the arras is its alone, even
when the presence of an antic
chipmunk belies that conceit.

The Lake

The sky above like pasturage
for sheep disguised as clouds
reflecting in the lake. Below,
a loon skims the tranquil
sun-baked lake, then disappears
into that watery kingdom.
A resurgent breeze ripples
the lake and suddenly it
appears some heavenly hand
liberally sprinkled diamonds
on its reflective surface. When
the ripples subside and the
diamonds are swallowed into
the lake, its surface becomes a
gigantic mirror reflecting those
sheep nibbling their heavenly
bucolic meadow, not yet fully
embraced by the shimmering lake.

Marriott Basin, British Columbia

If you love nature, and enjoy going out into wilderness areas, it helps if you live in Vancouver. Leaving Vancouver and driving the Sea-to-Sky highway to Lilooet and the Coastal Mountains of British Columbia is a breeze. There, adventure awaits. You plan to drive on from Lilooet to the Marriott Basin. You've been there before, and you've liked it. So a return is in order.




You take care, because you're embarking on a backpacking week-end, to consider what you plan to take along. As little as you can get away with. You'll want a lightweight tent, enough to accommodate one person to sleep comfortably. A sleeping bag, food, a small stove, fuel, pot, change of clothing; socks and underwear at the very least.




Whatever else 'extra' you decide to take along, a small camping towel, soap, toothbrush, mug, platter, and candle-lamp, you know you will have to carry it in on your back. The more ambitious your hike into the mountains, the more prudent you are in selecting what to take with. A small set of binoculars? An efficient, small water-filter. Up to you; how's your back for carrying a load for a prolonged period of time, over challenging terrain?




Once at your base camp, you'll set up your tent. Good thing you thought to take along a small blue tarp and ropes; they'll come in handy. The view over the lake is spectacular, and just look at that sky; looks like a storm approaching. Up, up and away, there's an eagle coasting on the wind. And what's that peering around that rock? Oh, a pica.



You'll prepare a rudimentary but satisfying meal for your first night out. A good cup of hot soup or tea finishes that off nicely. Let's hear it for freeze-dried food. Night draws a dark curtain over the landscape pretty quickly in the mountains. The atmosphere is fresh and cool and there's a brisk wind rippling the lake. It laps gently while you sleep, a good, exhausted sleep.



And in the morning you look around again, wait for the sun to come up; at least for dawn to begin to filter light through the mountains. You look out over your lake and the silence and the mountains beyond embrace you. After breakfast you begin a climb, planning a day-hike further along, secure in the certainty that no one will disturb your camp site. It will be there, intact, on your return, waiting for you.



You want to get a good close look at that glacier you remember, wonder if it'll have that same rose-coloured bloom on it. And that lake nestled high above, that blue-green glacial lake that looks ready to spill over the cleft in the mountain onto the landscape below. Oh right, it does do that; it falls over the rock in a prolonged, long and resounding spill, to fill another lake down below.



Photographs courtesy of J.S. Rosenfeld

Garden Helpers

They have mastered the skills
of deception and stealth
those dark puppy twins. Cleverly
posing as nature lovers and
garden assistants entranced by
the visual delights of my garden
they slink unobserved within
the garden bed, where their
incursions are strictly forbidden
to secure for themselves
ill-gotten gain, for they relish
not the beauty of flowers, but
the opportunity to winkle out
with consummate skill, violets
complete with roots to satisfy
cravings, presumably both
in illicit taste-testing and the
testing of gardener gullibility.