Perpetual Motion

This is Nature's busy season.
All her creations have been
informed by gentle prodding
that procrastination is quite
pointless, their creatrix has
expectations to be fulfilled
and tardy responses are not
to be tolerated. Birds are
frantically seeking suitable
nesting materials and bees are
gathering pollen. Small furred
creatures no longer reliant
on their diminished stores
of rations now wander woods
verdant with new life, transformed
from the raw inclemency of
winter. Wind no longer pierces
and stings with icy claws, and
the sun's warmth filters its
beneficence through the forest
canopy. Mild breezes waft the
sweet fragrance of dogwood,
honeysuckle and Hawthorn
blossoms soon to be joined by
flowering bedding grass. This
is Nature's true perpetual motion.

Atmosphere

This early morning the sky
is clear but the sun no longer
penetrates the green shield
of the forest canopy. The 
oppressive heat of the day 
is yet to generate its humid 
closeness. Above, unseen and
riding a brisk wind, a hawk 
shrieks, warning voles and mice
that the diurnal hunt is on, no
respite from the night's surprise
captures by the barred owl
whose presence so offends
the resident crows rising and
circling, cawing their aversion
in a rage of mob distemper.

If No Siren Wails

In the dense forest of streets
and houses of an urban area, if
an ambulance glides swiftly and
silently down a quiet street in the
dead of night between Friday and
Saturday, if no one is awake to
observe its passage and eventual
destination, did it really happen?
Oh certainly the elderly couple at
the address that the ambulance's
headlights picked out  unerringly
were very much aware of its
presence and anxious to welcome
its arrival, silently and with relief.
Stationary before leaving with its
cargo, the skilled paramedics
take careful note of all vital signs
while connecting the patient to
the electronic devices the
vehicle is equipped with in its
life-saving capacity, then rolls
off through the darkly silent streets
encountering little traffic, so no
need for ear-splitting sirens, only
the desire to reach the nearest
hospital emergency soon as possible.

The Dog Chorus

The song is a famous golden
oldie, one that delighted teens
when it first came to popularity
when old timers were young squirts
and among whom the lighthearted
song still is a favourite. On some
occasions when these elderly
songs are played for nostalgia
value, we hear it over the air
waves and hum along to it as
some old singing star belts out
their version of How Much Is that
Doggie In the Window? Invariably
a chorus from the backseats is
certain to respond as when dogs
listening by default to whatever
others in the household are tuned
in to seem to know this is a song
referencing them so when the
dog-language of barks plays out
over the air waves, it is not without
impetuous appreciative barks
from our little friends lazing
on sofas while pleased to exercise
their options in music appreciation.


 

 

Summer Rainburst

Hot, humid and close enough to
challenge comfort the ambient air,
the relentless burning sun and an
overheated atmosphere bake the
environment into a lethargic
submission leaving garden plants
gasping and shrivelled. Flies seek
escape by veering impulsively
through swiftly closing doors. A
robin perched high on a parched
tree limb warbles hope for respite
and nature responds, her messenger's
bass voice of thunder and dark clouds
sweeping the heat of the day toward
resolve. Dogs pick up their ears
and nervously move toward shelter
as large drops of serious rain ping
off garden gazebo roofs in a
sudden urgent downpour
wickedly slanting alongside a
sudden stirring wind drenching all
as between ferocious spurts of rain
the sun peers mockingly through gaps
in sodden, dark-streaked clouds.


 

Puzzled, Resigned

Go figure, said the Jewish
mother who with her husband
celebrated sixty years of marriage
profoundly vested with love so
deeply ingrained and mutual it
might appear to balance the
pain of rejection heavily
freighted with disdain and
malign repugnance for those
who bore and nurtured their
daughter to adulthood, stalling
at emotional maturity. A rejection
so heavily weighted in malice
as to grimly rejoice at the mere
thought of harm threatening 
their elderly lives; from an
adult child whose character
always found a cause to
spurn others yet complained
ceaselessly that life's
opportunities had abandoned
her aspirations. 'Twas ever 
thus; pain self-afflicted and
imagined vengeance: hot,
deadly and unavoidable. For
someone must suffer from 
let-downs in her insufferable life.

Nature's World

Grackles producing the gruff
syncopation to leaven the
sweet notes of a song sparrow,
the sopranino-trill of a cardinal,
we are right royally entertained,
the spontaneous concert in our
own backyard, the orchestra
sitting neatly on branches of
our spring-flowering trees,
another of nature's gifts to
complement the ephemeral bliss
of eternal spring inciting trees
and shrubs to blossom,
persuading perennials to reappear
in all their splendid guises in
a combined fragrance of
apple blossoms, lilacs and
lilies-of-the-valley, a
perfection of nature's design.

 

Canine Connoisseurs

They are incorrigibly stubborn
yet in their defence we cite
chronology rather than speciesism
in that they are, after all, still
puppies engaging in canine pursuits
however disgusting to our more
fastidious human values. And
while they appreciate no end
after-walking-in-the-woods
treats like Kefir, a decidedly
human choice, they place its taste 
and appeal on a par with what 
they consider dog-treat-delectable,
nicely aged dog poop. The trade
off, having to walk in a forest
on-leash, not free to browse at
will seems irrelevant to these
lovable little connoisseurs.

 

Gardener's Helpers

They are so helpfully willing to
lend a paw, chafing disconsolately
at my demurral. There exists
however a gap in our 
communication; their species'
compulsion is to focus on
digging up, while mine is
involved in digging in
a springtime fancy that
impels the passion of countless
gardeners, the annual ritual
of planting to achieve that
irresistible goal of exquisite
floral beauty to make the
garden pulsate, glow and 
enchant us summer-through,
a fancy unknown to puppies.


 

How Sweet It Is

How Sweet It Is

There, there's that silhouette
lodged deep in my heart. I see
him even at that distance, in
that crowd descending the airport
escalator, even as his father
declares "there he is!" And,
there he is, as we grasp one
another, we and our youngest.

His face now defined and finely
chiseled with his own years
on the very cusp of a half century,
his smile broad, this child of ours,
asking how we are, seeing how
we are beside him, sheaves
of grey in his beloved hair.

How strange it is to welcome
briefly home the child we loved,
cherished and nurtured then bade
farewell as he confidently and with
ease sought his own life where we
are mere postscripts. How sweet
it is for the distance breached,
hearing his broad laugh directly
beside us in the gentle flesh.

A Battered Woman

The me that is has disappeared
from the public eye despite
that I am there, choosing to
display my temporarily altered visage.
Because my face now has responded
to a clumsy accident it appears
battered and bruised. The inflammation
that resulted after a carefree spring
stroll on a forest path veered in
the wrong direction when my
boot wobbled upon a tree root 
toppling my surprised body
to propel my face violently upon
the forest floor has resulted in
those who view me having themselves
an inflamed perspective on who I
am, for as an unaesthetic caricature
of how I now present, I have
become in suspicious minds 
the very embodiment of civil
shame, a  hapless victim of
spousal abuse, a battered woman.

Woodland Arras

On the most benign of spring
days the sun dazzles with its
warmth and light benevolently
bringing life through emerging
foliage, stimulating wildflowers
to boldly leap to full, glowing
colour, and foliage to burst
into a vibrant verdancy. The 
aged carpet of leafmould 
enriching the forest floor 
bursts with new life in the
timeless ritual of renewal.
Bees, butterflies, beetles and
Bluejays fly freely on the
breezes wafting through the
forest between hemlock and
spruce, fir and pine, reserving
their place in the unfolding drama
in nature's restless formula of 
existence, that informs and
nurtures all the creatures her
imperial majesty dominates.

Royalty Formula

She is young and svelte
attractively personable and
oh, so very confident, a long
rope of jet-black hair snaking 
over the back of her smart white
jacket. She greets all who enter
her visual space with a welcoming
smile showing off two rows of
sparklingly perfect white teeth
a warm hug never far from the
offing. With a proprietary air
of professional calm she plunges
her delicate fingers, silkily
gloved, deep within the
interior of your most intimate
orifice. On the wall behind
the throne upon which she
has invited you to rest is the
academic certification, her
dental degree, the gift from her
to herself that keeps on giving. 

Landscape Art

The origin of everything, she is 
peerless in her design, her stunning
creativity an inspiration to those
she gifted with intelligence who look
upon her creations with awe and envy;
those among them capable of artistic
endeavour aspiring to themselves
create imaginative iterations of her
splendour. Oblivious to the esteem
in which she is held, Nature gives
no favours and seeks none from her
creatures. Yet their efforts to emulate
her illuminating blueprints of existence
are endless. From time immemorial
humankind has paid homage to their
creator, attempting to leave their own
marks of worship for her designs on
the dank, dark walls of caves, and
endless renditions grandly framed in
gold leaf hanging on the walls of
the world's most esteemed national
galleries. It takes a master craftsman
to model a single snowflake in its infinite
crystalline forms of ephemera. And it
takes a lightning-bold genius of
abstraction to stretch canvas on a frame
briskly gesso it in preparation, then
paint an effortless white landscape of
all-consuming blankness, an imperfect
simulacrum of a fierce winter snowstorm
creating the absolute of a white-out. 

High Maintenance

We bestow our love upon them
without stint, and they reciprocate
with trust and the greatest affection
one species can hold another in.
We who are legion, the childless
the empty-nesters, the loners
and the disaffected who find
peace and belonging denied by
social contact awaiting them in
the pure unalloyed love of a pet
companion through the days of
our lives. Our hearts are wrenched
at the thought of losing them for
they are our family, and no extended
need is greater than ours to have
them beside us. When professional
care is needed to supplement our
own for them we seek medical
help and become supplicants to 
the hospitals that cater to our needs
and theirs. Pet companionship saves
us emotionally so we do not hesitate
to deplete our savings to make them
hale again. Seen outside a bank a
rare item indeed: a Bentley coupe
with specialized license plate
identifying the owner: "Dr.Vet"

Forever Yours

Unforgettable, that's what it was
the electric heat that pulsated through
me, tingling and energizing me in a
way I had never imagined through
your intimate touch, your skin on
mine, touching me, enfolding me
as I clung to you in stolen moments
far from probing eyes when we were
so young. You taught me the origins
of existence by embracing me and
speaking softly and endearingly
and there was never resistance only
an eagerness to prolong and to repeat
and to be together for eternity. In 
life terms eternity is forever long
our hearts beat and our minds dwell
together entwined in a loving heat of
unforgettable attachment, in a never
ending dance of love. On woodland
walks together we watch as butterflies
spiral, circling one another before
meeting in a ritual of bodily embrace.
Our souls are like those butterflies
ephemeral within nature's diverse and
endless match-mates yet willing
ourselves to become ageless in the
grasp of our enduring, timeless love.

Woodland Theft

Ah, there they were, the rare and
lovely specimens, colonizing a
steep hillside, snuggled among the
yews and the lesser violets, flaunting
their pristine white flags unfolding
against the raw forest floor, their
tender spring stalks rooted firmly in
leaf mould, bulbs well entrenched
inciting in this avid gardener the
greedy vision of transplantation
in my very own garden, discreetly
where those shy flowers are certain
to survive the shock of abduction
and I, the culprit, taking them from
their woodland Eden, basking in an
unrepentant triumph of botanical
thievery, glow with pride. They are
in fact being re-acquainted with 
distant cousins which a decade or
so earlier became refugees under
quite similar circumstances, pillaged
from that same forest, now thriving
as proud denizens of my garden.

Evolution

There are always reasons, emotional
and logical. And once upon a time
when we were young we refused to
eat things we had no appetite for because
...well, just because we had no appetite
for them. We became far more reasonable
as we matured and found those food
items appetizing after all. And then
something strange happened, we went
beyond maturity into old age and funny
thing that, old age returned us to where
it all began. Now, unfinished plates are
removed from the dinner table, heavy
with vegetables. On the other hand
healthy protein like salmon can be
found edible if it is a) barbecued and
b) liberally sprinkled with a special 
seasoning combination originally meant
to make meat palatably irresistible.
This does not mean that the salmon,
treated similarly becomes irresistible
but that much of it may be eaten since
to resist demonstrates the child in us.

The Peaceful Forest

All is still in the serene forest,
wrapped in the process of 
spring renewal under a calm
sky of periwinkle blue. Until
the stillness is suddenly rent
with the piercing whistle of
two hawks, circling above the
yet-bare forest canopy. Not
even a whisper of wind but
the fierceness of their audible
calling card focuses the woodland
to instant attention. Soon quiet
again prevails leaving an
underlying nervous tension.
Having no influence on the
steadily emerging specimens
on the forest floor, as bracken
forms when ferns and baneberry
trilliums and trout lilies begin
to crowd one another's space
colonizing the barren landscape
that winter's departure has left.

In Wry Retrospect

Dr. Bill Freedman Nature Reserve at Prospect High Head, NS (Photo by NCC)

In Wry Retrospect

Some wag once said that growing old
is not for the faint of heart, and
indeed as we grow older the heart
does grow fainter in its reliability
taxed as it is all those years through
constant use. On the other hand there
is much in life that taxes us and brings
us to the very brink of madness. If
growing old is difficult to contemplate
much less experience, so is the
journey to agedness, compromised
as it is for so many of us by the
natural outcome of marriage and the
raising of a family. My brother used
to quip, he of the jaunty airs and 
amused view of life, that raising
children is akin to death by a thousand
cuts. Yes, raising children is beyond
difficult, the parry and thrust of
minds growing into adulthood
hesitating to give credit where it is
due often taxes one's patience where
there is nothing left to teach because
they who have inherited our genes
simply know all there is to be ingested
to become the beings they strive toward.
And, as it happens, the unkindest cut of
all was reserved for my brother, ardent
naturalist that he was for whom the 
nature conservancy named a preserve,
not by striving to meet the challenges of 
offspring become adults, but nature
deciding in the crapshoot of life that he 
had struggled long enough awarding
him an inoperable cancer to end it all.

 

Reclaiming the Garden

The view from the front door this
morning looking out at the garden was
of a tumult of small furry creatures
rushing here and there, leaping,
cavorting, chasing one another and
availing themselves of the nuts
and the seeds. This has been the
view throughout the winter months
with the bird feeders above them
the venue for the local avian
population and in early spring
returning migrants in ferociously
needy numbers. Now, mere hours
later confusion reigns. The squirrels
and the birds still find errant seeds
and nuts on the garden soil, but the
feeding platforms are absent, time
for them to fend for themselves
in the greening spaces of mid-May.
I did feel a pang of regret at their
confusion, all the more when a 
cardinal flew directly to where the
usual forage awaited and then alighted
instead on nearby trees. Pangs of
regret and guilt aside, it is time to
be reunited with my garden, its
vacancy but for germinated seeds
of various origin aside, along with a
plenitude of budding sunflowers to
be judiciously plucked, the space
reserved for emerging perennials
and colourful summer annuals.

Alerted Prey

Whistling and shrieking the
hawk wheels rapturously on
the wind that has brought
cold, crisp air to the forest.
Above the forest canopy
where foliage remains notionally
wispy the raptor peers below
as it rides the updrafts, seeking
out prey in the certain knowledge
born of seasonal experience 
that these spring-awakening
woods play host to teeming
wildlife. Surely small mammals
and other avian species shudder
at the triumphant declaration
of an existential threat returned.

Life Reborn!

Have you noticed lately, the days
are longer, brighter, warmer and oh
so spontaneously livable in contrast to
those we have so recently been rescued
from. The birds have noticed, they have
been migrating non-stop, geese in arrowed
formation calling to us their glee on
return, and other migrants from tiny
songbirds to fearsome birds of prey
lingering long at bird feeders, settling
down on furrowed, seeded fields
floating on the breezes bringing them
to our notice, calling to one another
spreading themselves on lakeside beaches
assembling and re-assembling, taking
stock, moving on. Butterflies too have
been moving in, and bumblebees seeking
pollen, and bugs of all description just
beetling on, swifting before our eyes.
Dandelions suddenly spring to golden
tufted presence, glowing back the colour
of the sun, competing with trilliums for
attention in the woodlands, sharing space
with troutlilies and foamflower. Oh say
can you see ... this is life reborn!

 

Show and Tell

The Hawthorns are in no hurry
to join the forest rush to leaf
ample thorns but no foliage
though they're the first to shed at
the very cusp of autumn's presence.
From the crisp green shelter of
the woodland hemlocks and
spruce, goldfinches tease in
springtime trills as brilliant
as the sun beaming through the
canopy falling on trout lilies
colonizing the forest floor, their
heads the colour of that golden
orb, shyly nodding perfect
floral heads in competition with
the luminous sun awakening
deciduous trees, bracken and
the perfection of woodland
wildflowers in a succession of
colour, fragrance and form.



 

 

Breathing Free

It's an old trail in a network
of urban forests preserved
because its geology is not
conducive to tract housing
construction and so it remains
an oasis of natural wilderness
surrounded by a ring of various
neighbourhoods, its existence
unknown to oblivious residents
but for a select few who over 
the years have treasured its
proximity, the forest, its
ravined slopes, its creek and 
its wildlife bringing substance
and value to their own lives.
There, a succession of lovely
wildflowers bloom, insects and
birds abound, small animals and
reptiles live, secure in their
green haven. And those who
venture beyond the pavements
the highways and the malls
take their leisure among the
multitude of trees, deciduous
and conifers, breathing free.

Nightmares

So what is it then that we fear like 
children screaming in the dark of 
lurking monsters, when we find
ourselves immobilized and terrified
deep in the dungeon of a nightmare?
Is it the result of a collective inheritance
that has its genesis in our common
primordial memory that from time to
time surfaces prepared to drown our
cerebral foundation in a writhing pit
of serpents? How to explain our night-
wandering soul in a passage to some
places unknown by our minds leaving
us trembling and aghast? When beasts
slaver and pounce and we fear impending
death, recoiling from the danger and from
the message, relieved to finally awaken.
There was no wakening for those who
suffered the nightmare of human beasts
intent on extinguishing the lives of
Europe's Jews, not in a miasma of 
night horrors, but in an agonizing and
extended solution to cleanse Europe of
a human pestilence reduced to that
status by the overwhelming disinterest
that consumed minds of neighbours 
swiftly accustomed to witnessing familiar
families packed onto cattle cars pleading
for help only to see their neighbours
turn nonchalantly away since it was no
business of theirs, this ugly genocide.
In a fit of remorse the world vowed
that never again would such a horror
be mounted, and yet, and yet. In Europe
the moment is reborn and those who
espouse a re-enactment of the Holocaust
express so freely, carrying their signs
and shouting their slogans once again
of wholesale extermination. Time has
blurred the pity and compassion of
man's inhumanity to man, the victim
become the oppressor: death to Jews!

Pensive Cerebration

I recall the collective groan that
exploded from the mouths of his
children. Teens are like that of course
dismissive of certain elements of 
their parents' patterning and pattering.
In this instance it was a post dinnertime
soliloquy on the unfairness of time
and the pattern of life. That event
occurred a half-lifetime ago when we
were celebrating their father's 40th
birthday and he was in mourning over
that milestone, speaking in rueful
tone that it seemed such a short while
ago that we, their parents were as 
young and carefree as they. This
self-indulgent regret spoken to
oblivious youth failed to impress
and nor were they prepared to
oblige by feelings of companionable
regret at their father's mildly depressed
state. Impassively brushing cake crumbs
away they rose as one, his three teens
and left their parents to commiserate
with one another. Another milestone
looms. This time his 80th and though I
will reach it before he does, I am left to
wonder the celebration we will share.