Snow Imprint

 

The forest floor, well on its way
to freezing - encouraged, bullied
by impending winter's
dominion over land
and inland waterways...

Those ferocious icy blasts
have brought new, permanent
snow, covering that rigid floor.
Snow flurries pause lazily in
downward spiral toward
winter's certain depths.

Wind whips bare branches.
The scarlet head of a woodpecker
brutalizing the trunk
of an ancient pine, shards flying
reveals a wide, white gap
the bird rewarded for its
destructive industry.

Clouds catapult their spare
contents with diminishing returns
as an insistent gust sweeps them
imperiously aside to reveal
an azure promise.

Beams of modest brilliance
modified by the season
yet still sufficiently solared
illuminate a child's
luminous snow-angel.

 

 

The Human Condition

 

How appalling it is to know that in many 

countries of this great wide world people live 

in squalid, hopeless conditions of extreme

poverty facing institutionalized discrimination

due to ethnicity, religion and social conditions

of long cultural tradition where distrust and

viral hatred between tribal groups and minorities

fosters threats and civil strife and food shortages

threaten alongside lack of health care where

raging epidemics of deadly diseases due to

lack of sanitation compromise the longevity

of those unfortunate enough to be citizens.

And how fortunate those others are who live

in civilized societies whose economies ensure

employment and whose constitutions pledge

sanctity of the individual and equality of

opportunities, if not outcomes. Where the

assurance of a plentiful food supply, housing

and universal medical care fulfills peoples' 

basic needs of ample water and energy and 

schooling where offsprings' aspirations to 

succeed in life can be realized. There, where 

human rights are respected by custom and by

law and where human potential is encouraged. 

Bedeviled by the presence of addictions, by 

homelessness and despair. Where children are 

stalked by pedophiles. The homeless and the 

hungry kick pride aside and public food banks 

distribute donations to the needy. And where 

domestic violence creates the necessity of 

public shelters whose security and capacity is

never quite accommodating enough to solve 

the endemic issues of humanity's incapacity 

to govern itself credibly as a civilization.

 

Winter Solstice

 

This has been most auspicious
this scintillatingly bright day
beyond bone-chilling
given plunging temperatures
high humidity and incessant wind.

Our boots crunch deeply
into the ice-caked snow
as we pass trees in seasonal
white festoon, wind still busy
urging cakes of snow to !plop!

The sky blue, with drifting
white banners decorating the occasion
a silvery scimitar of a moon
lost in the greater grandeur
of that amazing cosmos.

It is not yet mid of the afternoon
sun sending long shadows
as our legs assume slender
proportions as of gliding tentacles.

As bright as the day has been
there is a darkening quality
hovering in the atmosphere
the sun all too prepared to set.

There is a supreme tranquility
on this shortest day of the year
ushering in calendar winter
though the winter season has long
preceded the calendar.

One an event of nature's making
the other a notion of humankind.

 

 

Winter Arras

 

Yesterday wind bellowed through the

forest, whipping snow from branches while

birds fled and animals shivered in their burrows.

Today -- ah today, the wind has transformed

itself from threat to avuncular host whispering

welcome to those who tread the forest pathways

portraying itself as meek and companionable

speaking the language of comity and friendship.

Yet something lingers in the woodland interior

of yesterday's hostility when the surly wind

sent penetratingly icy fingers of painful cold

to remind all that huddled in trepidation and

fear that its power is unlimited and occasional

episodes of theatrical bonhomie do not define

its entire repertoire. Even while the mild and

orderly gusts ruffle the feathery snow dusting

remaining on boughs and branches there is an

aura of disquiet. Dusk has arrived too soon in

heralding night's imminence when under cover

of a black night the wind can plot new excesses

to terrorize its tender victims hoping to survive

winter's misery. For the meantime a collective

sigh is released from the forest as the heavens

liberate their treasury of translucent crystals

their inner sparkle brilliantly lighting the sky.

 

 

Take Flight!

 

The soft, mouse-grey sky
canopies the landscape
lavishly curvaceous with
buoyant snow from yesterday's
blizzard that brought a
mesmerizing disquietude
to Nature's humble creatures.

An icy chill has asserted
over the land, settling into winter.
The orb of the sun gleams softly,
intermittently casting tender
beams of light to highlight
here and there the track
of a hare, the wingspread
of some night-time hunter.

Malevolently-driven winds
harnessing the weather to
an ultimate degree of dislocated
anarchy prevails. Hurling itself
at all that presume to present
in its imperious path. Now
settled into a moderately
persistent presence.

Groaning, moaning, clacking
forested tree tops. Toppling
snow drifts sitting on tree stumps
like ice cream on their cones,
the bundled snow falling softly
creating a landscape of its very own.
The creek streams silently onward
its banks softened in silver sides.

Fall malingerers are placed
on notice; stay, and surrender
to an unaccustomed harshness
of climate in degrees and ferocity
you've not been equipped to surmount.
If survival is your goal - take flight!

 

 

The Silence of Snow

 

Wind spurts fierce thrusts compelling
the snow to drift languidly and
mound into voluptuous landscapes
while evergreen boughs heavy
with snow release great clumps
themselves springing to height.

Lazy clouds of snow drizzle
the landscape. Falling clumps freckling
the grey sky, shifting clouds to
pleasure the insistent sun. Shafts
of light haze through the forest,
firing the snow to silver crystals.

Through the soft and gentle
stillness, the staccato of a hairy
red-capped woodpecker. Snow
generously comforts a recently-bereaved
copse of elm, maple and poplar,
naked no longer. Trunks grey
black and brown stippled
gloriously-blinding white.

Desiccated, bright orange bittersweet
fruit cluster along their vines'
chokehold on prickly Hawthorns.
Their haws shy against the
flamboyance of the others.
The creek drifts clear and tinkling
over gathered fall detritus
now heavily banked in snow.

A raven crosses the undecided sky
its raucous call shredding the silence
swift body a black arrow true to its mark.
Soon, snow-muted silence regains
its imperious reign.

 

 

The Short Story

Not very enlightened
nor expressively creative,
but most certainly qualified
as a short-short story.

About life in general
and an evaporated passion
in particular degree
well beyond rescue.

They met, they tarried.
Sharing the veneer of
common interests
but not, alas values
and cultural background.

He as disinterested in hers
as she in his. Still, they married
and celebrated a scant few
years of mutual neglect
and growing revulsion.

Though neither would
offer the other release from
tension and aggravated
bitterness in expectations
drowned in grievance.

Theirs was a story
abbreviated by his final
solution. Her ultimate demand
answered by his final decision.
He did not attend her funeral.

Inflicting upon him
recrimination and blame
that only a faithless woman
is capable of wounding a man by;
her final act to seal his future.

 

Study In Contrasts

 

Each is dear beyond compare

but just for the sake of the challenge

let us briefly and with love and

affection enumerate the contrasts.

In their precociously early years

grandchildren strike us as 

miniature versions of ourselves

and they instinctively realize

that our purpose in their lives

is to entertain them. Puppies

in their gamboling formative years

entertain us. They are attentive

to us, fulfilling our needs in

exchange for love and theirs

has no limits and few constraints

content with our company as we

mature together. Grandchildren

know us as 'old', likely equalling

mental incapacity, incapable of

understanding their language

as they spurn the formality of

ours, along with our stone-age

musical preferences. They are

horrified to view us dodderers

dancing; our pups are intrigued by

such admirable shenanigans. No

longer in approaching the age of

consent do our grandchildren look

to us for entertainment, but to

endlessly fund their entertainment

their advanced education, their

adult lives. Exasperated? Amused.

 

 

Haven't We?

 

Our social history is one of

imperial colonialism lording it

over less socially, economically

advanced cultures, even cultures

of ancient heritage that the hubris

of ours found wanting, and now

those times are less hallowed, the

spirit of domination and oppression

that zeitgeist acknowledged

with the penance of shame as

we humbly teach ourselves

the virtues of tolerance and

respectful understanding, to make

amends so we may like ourselves

spurning our past. Now we are

tolerant of those who in history

felt somewhat as we did

sublimely entitled to crude

and bloody conquest in a

surging scimitar-led campaign

to forcibly enlist those not of the

faith to surrender ignominiously

and penitently to Islam. Now, we

fatuously empathize with their

campaigns of murderous raging

jihad murmuring sympathetically

past one atrocity after another

that we have, after all, offended

their theistic sensibilities.

 

 

Absent Neighbours

 

Just as well it is winter

and miserably frigid, one

supposes. Puppies have to

become accustomed to all kinds

of weather, after all, and while

duty not yet calls them, we

take up the challenge 

as befits their human

companions since time

beyond memory to ease them

into the backyard ritual

of relieving themselves there

not in the house. They shiver

in the cold as we do, their

tender little paws abused

by snow and ice, but our

gratitude at performance

and our loudly effusive praise

delights them and us, both.

Just as well, then, it's winter

no neighbours out in their

backyards to hear our lunatic

whoops and yelps of

celebratory commendation.

 

 

Immaculate Perception

 

This house of ours, so

ordinarily immaculate

has become a piquantly hellish

place since inviting two

sibling puppies to share a

home with us. Some trade-off

that is, for the ordered neatness

and predictability of a house

lacking the substance and

vigour of youthful joy and

exuberance, a pair of

devilishly wild puppies'

presence replete with laughter

and amazing acrobatic

cheekiness, feats of silly

courage and loving excess

weighed against staid, elderly

boredom, and a tidy home.

On the other hand, of course

they are action-omnivorous

curious and adventurous little

monsters and we may 

not yet survive this frantic

paradisaical exposure.

 

 

Nature's Balm

 

Button -- 1993-2012

There exists a mysterious

element of inheritance surely

as though creatures are

programmed in a strategy to

seamlessly repeat and replace

one another, bred to complement

the emotional needs of people

who see in their beloved canine

companions the arcane spirit and

acquired habits of those that

preceded them. It is as though

grief for the one lost to age's

inevitable descent into death

moves Nature to provide

another, gifted with like

qualities and the precocious

sense of identifying clues

leading to the inspiration of

repeated mannerisms and

sensitivities of the original.

Their presence a consolation.

 

The Delirium of Being

 

It truly is a wickedly 

icy winter day, wind

whipped to a frenzy of 

chill, underfoot treacherous

icy conditions, but the sky

bright with golden sun.

On the woodland trail

suddenly galumphing

toward us, the spectacle
of a pink-jacketed

Irish Setter pup, gleeful

with the freedom from

constraint, wallowing

joyfully in the snow

then headed straight 

toward us, its long

puppy tail swooping

like a pendulum in greeting

leaping on our chests

offering its free affection

to affable strangers and

frantic owner alike, this

young creature infused with

the delirium of discovery.

 

 

Diamond Gleam

 

The early morning sun

gleams, glistens and

glitters on the handiwork

of yesterday's elements

choreographed by nature

to perform their roles

to flawless perfection.

On cue, the darkly dense

sky of pewter released

snow and the wind

blew it into every

interstice, cranny and

crack, until the world

was white and bright

and new again. Then the

icy atmosphere relented

to freezing rain, generously

coating and enfolding

trees with the brilliant

burden of sparkling ice.

A scene of ravishing beauty

transforming the landscape

to a winter wonder, sun

adding the diamond touch.

 

 

Compassion

 

There are those who will

never understand your

grief the loss of a

presence dear to you

has caused, others for

whom your loss is

expressed in personal

relief that it is you

not they who have

been bereaved, and

yet others who tell you

to brace up and

recall the good things

and just accept the sad 

reality of the inevitable. 

And then there are those

whose uncompromised

compassion is a soothing

calm dispensing with words

in favour of a deep gaze

leading to the brief but

lasting harbour from

haunting pain deep

within the firm warmth 

of an empathetic embrace.

 

 

Inspired Language

The muse of literacy is not amused.

She is in fact beyond the state of bemused

quite beside herself in the face of the

unaware unwillingness of those who

embark upon that most common of shared

human expressions to exert themselves

not fastidiously, but deliberately and

with all due courtesy to language -- use

the words meant to convey their thoughts

and use them accurately, inclusive of the

specific order of the alphabet that identifies

those words, for the elegance of language

and communication demands no less.

I know all this and so would you if you

but heeded her rules through the simple

expedient of respect and admiration for

all that language allows. That which has

the effect of demeaning language in turn

identifies the abuser as one unworthy of

the gift of communication. A visual blight

and an assault on one's sensibilities when

a blissfully unaware mangler of prose

poses as one whose opinions are fraught

with meaning and substance, all flown off

in an embarrassment of sad association.

 

The Rescue

 

Quite the pair they are, the

large black-muscular dog loping

beside the laboured gait of the

man; an arresting sight in

contrasts. The man, his tall

but slight and angular form

bent toward the ground

proceeding carefully, the dog

proceeding with its attention

fully on the awkward progress

of its companion. The man's 

smile slants across the landscape

of a face well acquainted with

suffering, wan and accepting.

His chest strangely concave

as though his maker, distracted

in the process of building his

body forgot half. Unlike the

large dog's deeply muscular

chest heavy with perceived

menace. Bred to inspire fear

the dog is herself fearful, shy

and meekly spooked, her human

companion gently reassuring

her, salving her terrorized 

reaction to the unfamiliar.

Her needs motivate his

compassion, his familiarity

with accidents of fate equipping

him, her grateful reliance on

his guiding intervention

his assigned purpose in life.

 

 

Hey, She's Here!

 

I've become a celebrity
with my very own personal
following of black-clad PR
agents always on the alert
for my presence. When sighted
calls go out to others of my
admirers to gather and bask
in my very special presence.
When I exit my home the
black-uniformed sentries
spring into action sending
the alert and closely following
me. Several at first, then
a gathering dark storm steadily
arrive, haunting my footsteps,
watching carefully for sight
of the treasure they seek and
for which I am acclaimed.
The forest nearby my house
the venue where peanuts are 
daily dispersed, the cache
spots known as well to the
furred wildlife, as to the
dense-feathered honour guard
seeking their daily fair fare.

 

Existence

 

The timeless, perplexing and

sublimely complex creation

that hums and thrums throughout

the Universe holds endless

fascination for those times

when our minds contemplate

the unknowable vastness and

diversity that surrounds us, in

everlasting space, dark and

teeming with celestial bodies

whose chemistry the brilliance

of a scientific mind deciphers

beyond the comfort of we 

whose focus remains close at

hand, sighting about us the

wonder of ephemera, butterflies

and morning mist, spring peepers

and flowering vines, the fragrance

of favoured dishes, the flood of

memory bringing us to tears.

Our amazement that we were

born and out of fortune's sideways

glance we met to recognize our

future of shared thoughts, love

and tenderness, the care taken

in the duality of two becoming

as one, living our allotted time

given to a microscopic presence

within the great gyrating

wheel of the Universe.

 

 

In A Nutshell

 

It has been hundreds of thousands

of years in the making, far less 

a social construct than truly a

distinct gender difference that

even early homo sapiens understood

for they were not (self)-named

'man-the-wise' for nothing. That

females gave birth and in so doing

the busy mother and the mewling

infant required support to survive

was simply acknowledging reality

of a kind amply recognized by all

animal species. Those biological

adaptations resulting in male and

female merely Nature's formula

for reproduction as the mistress of

existence fiddled with her archaic

architectural plans melding physics

chemistry and organisms in a

choreography of imperious design 

to amuse her royal majesty, sole

witness and grand proprietress of

the dazzling, twisting Universe whose

infinite attention to scale and minute

detail alike inflicted upon Planet Earth

a species whose antics, emotions and

pathologies guaranteed her not one

wasted moment of suspense. Assuming

she endowed those females with so

many attributes not unlike her own

creation among them. The puzzle left

would be what she exampled the

male psyche upon in her fertile

imagination, laughing indulgently

as he created the idea of an all 

powerful deity, just incidentally

in his very own humble image.

 

 

Sign of Our Times

 

When our children were young

and adorably stubborn and their

parents adamant that they be

compliant in consuming the

nutritious food served them in

those proportions suitable for

young bodies to thrive, growing

healthy and robust, it took both

their parents' entreaties to convince

them their chiming complaints were

unjustified and unuseful to their

actual needs. Occasionally they

might relent and pick daintily at
the fish, liver or brassica offending

them on their dinner plates, even

on occasion lift a morsel to their

downward curling lips and manage

to gulp them down, with much

encouragement. Adults now, their

tastes encompass mostly what

they long ago spurned, while

those still offensive tastes are

banished. Alone, together at our

dinner table, it is I alone who

remonstrates on those occasions

when our children's father fails

to appreciate those same dinner

offerings rejected by our offspring

a sign of our less tumultuous times.

 

 

EverythingSomehow

Scientists used nine years of data from NASA’s Wilkinson Microwave Anisotropy Probe to create this detailed, all-sky image of the cosmic microwave background. The image reveals 13.8-billion-year-old temperature fluctuations (shown as different colors) – seeds that grew into the galaxies we see today.

NASA/WMAP Science Team

 

A single immensely singular

infinite density of matter and 

antimatter and no one to know

of its non-existence. It just was

the event of creation, the universe

appearing from no thing its

patient arrival as an indescribable

quantum event of huge mystery

and sublime presence. A mere

fourteen billion years ago, an

event unprecedented and explicit

as a representation of awe

as in awful and as in exemplifying

impossible; just simply became.

From nothing but a hidden

presence unassuming and

precipitate came the ineffable

cosmos, its still lingering

microwave shifting in time and

space validating the existence of 

all. How? Do not trouble yourself.

 

 

The Nourished Mind

 

What is a dwelling place
not graced with the presence
of books but a temporary
resting place for someone's
corporeal essence, soon
enough to be snuffed in
the fullness of the human
expiration date. Indifference
to opening one's mind to the
mysteries that surround us
here and then gone, adds
little to the human passage
in limited time. The home
invested in knowing the
world and its surroundings,
honing a familiarity with
humankind's awareness
of the immensity of the 
universe and our own minds
within it savours immortality
and celebrates the very triumph
of our transitory existence.