Above the sleeping birch
and beech, oak and pines
circle the dark forms of
a clatter of crows
busily reclaiming their
proprietary rights to
the sky below the
silver-grey of snow-laden
clouds, the roosting rights
to steepled firs and spruce,
the carrion-devouring rights
of the forest floor, and
none there are to contest the
ravenous ravening claimants.
Pots and covers, cutting boards
and dishes, utensils, bamboo
stirring spoons and paring knives,
cleavers and peelers litter every
conceivable space; briefly used
and discarded, soon lost in the
detritus of frenzied preparation.
Observe, ye females, and quail
with the futile despair of hopeless
envy! When all is done and
fragrantly dispensed, partake and
gush admiration of the zest and
skill that surpassed expectations.
Remain genuinely compatible to
agree to the sublime superiority
of the effort entailed culminating
in a meal of exquisite execution
and prepare, post-prandially, to
wipe up spilled excess and to
clean up that incredible morass.
We've come prepared, to dole out
the day's offerings, tucking them
into the crevices in tree bark,
atop branched ledges and jagged
stumps, everywhere our furry fan
club has long been accustomed to
finding them miraculously placed.
Though a chill wind blasts the
air, drifting the early morning's
snow flurries, the sun has lashed
its rays through bright partitions
in the pewter-clouded sky, and
hook-winged crows circle above
the woods, while nuthatches flit
through snow-dusted branches.
Some furtively, others robustly
unafraid and entitled, emerge in
their numbers of red, black and grey,
searching out the treats, our homage
to the small creatures who manage
to weather dire winter that storms
their hushed woodland retreat.
Flash: the men have taken over
the kitchen. Banned, the women
for too many cooks confuse the
issue. It's turn-about, and the
men are ardently set to demonstrate
cooking prowess inimitably
male style, y'know, mates.
Batten down the hatches, the
cooking storm has commenced;
one stirring at the stove top, the
other officiating at the preparation
island, knives flashing, vegetables
succumbing under the flash and
dash of the inevitable action.
How wickedly peevish Nature can be,
as though in a pique of irritated malice
at a mere human hubristically parsing
her mysterious manipulations of the
elements through the creation of the
Universe; a febrile mind capable of
huge theoretical leaps of imagination
interpreting her ineffable design,
earning her unappeasable wrath.
Capriciously, she inflicts upon that
mind a living, inescapable prison
where, locked within an unresponsively
neural-frozen prison of flesh the mind
forges on, struggling to communicate
its fantastical vision of creation.
God: The origin of the universe can be explained by the laws of physics, without any need for miracles or divine intervention. These laws predict that the universe was spontaneously created out of nothing in a rapidly expanding state. Dr.-Prof.Stephen Hawking
Photograph by Bates Littlehales
The stark, primal profile defining
the great bird's ancient lineage,
silhouetted against the late
afternoon winter sun, rears back its
bony head and assumes its
syncopated conquest of the
bare-trunked old beech, towering
above encircling birch and poplar
naked to the ferocious cold of
the wind raking the forest under a
sky clad in creased and pleated clouds,
silver and luminous gold where the
fabric of the clouds are rent by
that same insistently triumphant
wind, claiming the landscape,
both aloft and defiantly below.
The men in my family
bear little resemblance in
their unapologetic interests
and capabilities to those in
my mother's family. Never
did I see my father change a
diaper, nor my brothers bake
a bread, much less mend socks.
My husband bakes breads we
all enjoy, and with a special
baking gadget whips up tasty
batches of non-oiled doughnuts.
Our sons too bake bread, thanks
to modern technology, and one
of them uses my sturdy little
electric sewing machine with
an ease I do not possess.
When he visits with us now,
he comes prepared with exotic
recipes to cook dishes reflecting
cuisines around the world. Also
bringing fall gifts of his own making;
delectable peach-ginger, blackberry
and raspberry jams. Just relax,
they tell me, we'll look after
things. And they certainly do.
