The Forest Bluff

From the vantage point of a rocky
promontory over the woodland lake
serene in its location surrounded by
dense forest, mountain peaks rising
beyond, the stark mast of a forlorn
fir stands witness to the glory of fall
reflected in the canopy of maples
beech and birch among the conifers.
A stiff northerly wind ruffles the
surface of the lake from its intake
fed by a forest creek running off
the mountainsides catching the sun's
rays and sparkling back silver spurs
of light. Pickerel weed and reeds
catch the bright wavelets and still
them. The flavoured fragrance of
spruce perfumes the atmosphere
competing with the acridity of newly
fallen leaves. From the forest, the
calls of a bluejay ring out. This idyllic
landscape of nature undisturbed, a
grace enshrining the quality of life.

The Forest Pond

Its modest size not that of a lake the 
pond sits serenely in the midst of
large old trees, its watery interior an
aquatic forest of plants whose roots
are firmly entrenched in its sandy bottom.
Water fowl visit on occasion to feed on
its plenitude of duckweed and rest in
the reeds growing on its perimeter.
Shafts of sunlight readily penetrate
the forest canopy to cast their glancing
brilliance on the surface of the pond
where stray breezes create ripples
transformed to diamond beads whose
prisms become tiny temples of
incandescent colour. Wind carries the
sound of birds singing nearby and
tumbles dry foliage in subdued hues
of fall to float, then sink on the pond
home to caddisflies, dragonflies,
delicate damselflies and crickets.

 

Entitled

Two small black dogs' presence
evokes nostalgia in perfect strangers
stopping to contemplate them briefly
before passing on and out of our lives
to exclaim over their twin likeness 
to one another and to the family pets
of their childhood. This constant
attention is most gratifying to our
spoiled little siblings -- at last reaping 
the praise and adoration they seem
convinced is their natural entitlement
excitedly turning to us as though to
express how under-appreciated they
are by us as they move off in the
high dudgeon of having been denied
the place in our lives they so fully
deserve. As though they are ever
denied their cravings, as though our
lives haven't been dedicated to their
ongoing leisure and pleasure at their
insistent bidding, impish ingrates.

Nature's Rituals

The forest trail begins its meandering
journey as an old country cart-track
and gradually narrows, reflecting
the forest's reclamation, yet the trail
persists narrow and inviting, a bower
of branches from neighbouring hemlocks
reaching to clasp the sky, an intimacy
of shared space, a glory of verdant
place interspersed by random growth
of beech, oak, maple and birch, all
now in the throes of fall preparedness
for winter's arrival, dressed in the
ephemeral splendour of red and gold
foliage lazily detaching, to float airily
on each waft of wind, spiralling to the
forest floor, the forest canopy slowly
denuding, the green masts of the conifers
an exultation of perseverance, welcoming
bluejays, chickadees and nuthatches
even as geese depart, their formation
turned south in their migratory ritual.

Autumn Forest

The forest trail distinguished by its
massive old maples and hemlock 
though yellow birch, pines and 
spruce thrive in abundance. This 
Autumn day unseasonably warm
the sun afloat in the blue ocean above
barely a breeze to ruffle dangling
foliage, while the shrill call of bluejays 
pierce the placid serenity of the 
woods. The tangy flavour of leaves
littering the forest floor, a colourful
confetti shed from deciduous trees
in magnificent stands of vibrant 
auburn and gold, oranges, fiery reds 
and muted pinks reflecting the 
fierce glow of the afternoon sun
aslant in the mid-October sky.

 

Sensibilities

Mid-Autumn, that most ephemeral of
nature's transitions, teasing our vision
with a galaxy of colour as though to
disavow our sense of time and place
when the familiar undergoes its embrace
of surrender to the annual imperative to
race for winter's entrance, the shades of
gold and crimson filling our eyesight with
the brilliant, absorbing landscape of
departure, the colour prism sparkling
rainbow hues to contrast with winter's
silver and white, tones of icy demeanor
the warmth of summer hues departing
with the songbirds and the butterflies
making their pilgrimage south, deserting
their transitory northern breeding grounds
as we, lulled by the grandeur of nature's
incomparable palette, dream of past
Autumns, recalling times and events
people and the tenderness of moments
in this solemn, annual ritual of parting.

The Emergent Cynic

As an exercise in emerging self confidence 
and lessons in engaging in societal practices
there is nothing quite like it, as parents hang 
back, urging their children, costumed and 
hopeful, to move forward, ring doorbells
chant that familiar challenge of trick-or-treat. 
The young ones are indeed a treat for the eyes
and rare are the householders who hold
back a smile as they inform the children
how impressive their costumes are and
how admirable their courage in confronting
those whose obligation it is to render unto
them the awards they avidly seek, so
obviously deservedly. As the crowds thin and
parents take their young ones home to bed
allowing them first to gloat happily over
their take, it's the turn of the older ones. Teens
who arrive sullenly to each home, careful
not to break a smile for this is their obvious
entitlement; no need to repeat a ridiculous
phrase, nor smile engagingly, and the very
idea of a costume is for little kids; their
costume is complete with a large sack
held proprietorially, wordlessly proffered.