Friends

Each time I espie him

my heart leaps and warms.

I so admire his bold spunkiness

and intelligence, his curiosity

and carefully surmised 

conclusion that he would 

have much to gain by offering

me his friendship.  I reciprocate

in the only way that a tailless 

squirrel might appreciate,

greeting him familiarly by

name and never without an

edible gift.  The sound of his

name expressed by my voice

can draw him from within

quite a territorial radius.  He

is patient, awaiting the largest

peanut in my sack, leaping

confidently off with it,

resembling nothing so much

as a small black rabbit.

Tofino

Backpack nestled in old-growth cedar

Photos courtesyof J.S. Rosenfeld

Hello Garden

Hello garden, my old friend,

nice of you to visit, yet

again.  It is true that an

ounce of bright renewal

can banish a half-year's-worth

of pining regret for what

once gave insouciant impetus

to the wondrous glory of life.

So glad to see you've survived

another winter's excess of 

unforgiving rancour; the miserable

blasts of that season have left

us reeling in dismayed disbelief,

relieved now by the benevolence

of spring's balming essence.

We bask in warmth, gentle rain

and unblinking sun beaming

permission to tender shoots

emerging from rich, damp soil.

So, hello you tulips and daffodils.

Welcome back, clematis, hydrangea

honeysuckle.  So good to see you,

bergenia, glorious Magnolia!

Without Doubt

Without doubt, things are

changing.  This is a lovely day.

Gone the incessant rain events,

the unseasonable spring flirtation 

with that winter reluctant to depart.

Finally, the sun is out to dry

drenched landscapes where

forsythia, tulips, daffodils and

dandelions anxiously vie for

attention and acclaim as the

first of the season, earning

our grateful adulation.

And you seat yourself 

awkwardly in the waiting room

crowded with people, wondering

exactly what you're doing there,

amongst those who are grossly

overweight and pitifully underweight,

bent crooked, stumbling, unwilling

to meet the eye of a stranger.  You

wonder why it was you dressed to

ward off cool, damp weather

and now feel constricted, hot.

Names are called and those

waiting respond, tottering to

the inner offices, their faces 

peaked, lined, pale, concerned.

You return to your book, the one

you read only in such places, a

tedious novel to match a tedious

process.  And that is why you are

there, the process today includes

electrodes and a weekend-worn

heart monitor.  Your doctor

exhibits rather peculiar whimsies.

 Disinterested in Gloom

Nature is indulging herself again

tossing out one of her famous

seasonal tantrums; weeping sky

utterly haggard, grey countenance,

hoarse whispers of angry denial in 

wind whirling through treetops and 

no relief in sight from those deep

doldrums of miserable disaffection;

it is by any account a gloomy day.

We are not invested in glumness

nor is the cardinal, tuning out the

cloud-bruised lid above, ringing

the woods with its trill.  An owl's

steady querying response is more 

playful than mournful.  An ovenbird 

calls, inviting the lunatic glee of a 

Pileated, besotted with spring.  And 

a nuthatch creeps downside up, 

quite disinterested in gloom.

Button

Easing The Pain

We hardly know her,

a pleasant young woman

just recently taken to

walking her two small

Scotch terriers in the

woods, a place we

frequent daily.  She has

noted the absence of one

of our little dogs, and

tells us she believes in

the healing process of

discussing the death of a 

beloved pet to ease the pain.

One of us explains quietly

how devastating it has been

for us to lose the presence

of our decades-long companion.

He does not speak of the gloom

and longing that has settled

over us, or the long, fond

shared memories.  He does,

however, add that we have 

found it painful, not easeful,

to speak of our loss.  He says

all this while the other weeps.

Open/Close

Those are deft and gentle

hands so expertly probing

about where muffled words

escape my mouth, lips

stretched in pantomime of

a smile as the hygienist

scrapes and softly enquires

whether I can manage to

endure her ministrations.

As children we dreaded the

dire dental office visit, trapped

within a miserable, painful

ritual that terrorizes all children.

As adults, gritting teeth we

submit to necessity.  In our

old age, no more reconciled

despite great strides in care and

management; the grim intrusion

and sensitive reactions cannot

redeem the irredeemable.