Urban Haven
The oppressive heat of the
city streets falls away as we
descend the forested ravine trail
the distinctive call of a bluejay
welcoming us. Reaching the
slowly flowing stream the trail
splits and we decide: left or right
as either choice leads to a
bridge crossing the stream
where for each the trail rises
again to a higher point and
once again the choice of left-turn
right-turn confronts us. Sun
filters golden rays of light
and heat through the leafy canopy
shielding us from midday
discomfort and a freshening breeze
casually sweeps aside insects
from their irritating intentions.
This is a day when nature
offers her benign face. There
are no intrusions to complicate
our casual pleasure. Wild apple
trees prematurely drop unripe
fruit, buttercups catch stray
sunbeams and radiate that energy
back to the sky while a pair of
circling hawks coasting on the
wind whistle their presence to
the small furry creatures
cowering in the crotches of
evergreens, safe when still.
Woodland Gnome
From the distance as I
clamber the wooded hill
he is an impish, elfin figure,
cap rakishly ajar on his head,
bare knees asunder as he
perches on the edge of an
old tree stump, a large hairy
creature foraging silently
close by. Ah, then, no gnome
of the summer-green forest
is he, after all. Although his
elfin attire and attitude
delighting in the deep emerald
luxury of the forest and the
dusky aspect of its encircling
embrace glorying in himself
as the very embodiment of
human gratitude toward
beneficent nature, for him a
symbolic, symbiotic triumph.
My Conscious Muse
There is little that escapes her
notice. Nothing too remotely
minuscule in value that she will
not make note of and neatly file
for future introspection. That leads
invariably to thoughts and words
in the language of poetry
to pry from random sightings
meanings and observations
due their happenstance, urging
all due respect to her belief
that everything has its season
and its reason. For my part,
it is to her perspicacious attention
to the minutiae of life that
I give grateful thanks, that she
has chosen to lodge herself
deep within the vacuum of
my consciousness, obtuse at
best, but for the omnipresence
of my invaluable muse.
Ah, Gardening!
His very masculine face
brightened as he responded
how much he is engaged with
gardening, his voice matching
mine in fervour, a true enthusiast.
When I ventured my favourite
garden stalwart, the variety of
size, colour and texture of
plantain lilies, he turned his
puzzled face to mine admitting
the name was unfamiliar and
does it taste good? The realization
dawned that I was in the company
of a true gardener, as I
defensively explained it to be
an ornamental, not an edible plant
pointing to its presence in my
garden. Oh, he said, that
indestructible thing he has
planted around tree trunks;
whack it, mow it, and it comes
back, he said, dismissively,
then waxed poetic about his
squashes, his bell peppers, his
cucumbers and his onions and
I hoped he wouldn't notice the
paltry two tomato vines I grow
in containers as my inadequate
perfunctory nod to the practical
utility of growing one's own,
while a flush of embarrassment
flooded my consciousness at my
unbridled passion for floral beauty
so obviously unpractical and effete.
Woodland Hikes
Rain finished for the day
the dense grey cloud cover
obligingly parted to welcome blue
as the atmosphere brightened
and the sun blinked accommodatingly.
We could now discard thoughts of
raingear and embark on a woodland
hike to enjoy the airy lightness
of a rain-freshened landscape on
a summer's day. Halfway through
the ramble the faintest of
familiar sounds detected
unmistakably warning of
skyward war drums when
thunder draws nigh, and we
shrugged with the indifferent
assurance it was too far off
obviously headed in a direction
other than ours, so it was
amazing that the clamour
ramped up so swiftly as though
to defy arrogance of unwarranted
assumptions. As we speeded our
progress, so did the storm our
eyes and ears tracked through
the canopy shielding the
view of the sky, though the visage
of a fast-approaching armada
of darkly scowling clouds was
unmistakable. Doubling back
seemed an appealing remedy to
the prospect increasingly imminent
of a sodden passage of two
utterly drenched hikers set on
outrunning the oncoming storm.
Ah, the pleasures inherent in
the tender clasp of nature!
Discriminating Gourmands
They are avaricious little beggars,
an onlooker would be justified
in assuming our little puppies
are on a cruel starvation diet
so wedded are they to
dawn-to-dusk grazing when
they aren't galumphing
through the house in hot and
frenzied pursuit of one another,
each determined to have possession
of a singular toy of which two
are available, or ramping up
their wrestling/boxing routines
giving hectic chase when the mood
strikes. They position themselves
doggedly, beseechingly at the
kitchen counter as we prepare
fruits or vegetables, anxious to
cadge what they may. Jillie
will accept bits of anything,
from melon to berries, peas, banana,
oranges, broccoli, but Jackie
more delicately discriminating
though fond of almost everything
feels kiwis insult his taste buds
a step too far in abandoning
food-digestible standards, not
a patch on, say violets so readily
dug up in the garden and spruce
tips so accommodatingly available.
Human Vanity
His gait is ponderous
made so by his prodigious
size, necessitating that he
trundle from side to side
with a practised deliberation
a delicate operation in view
of his height and his girth
stomach proceeding well
before him like a marcher
in a national day parade
lofting forward in patriotic
pride his nation's flag. This
young man's flag is the
Achilles heel of his timed
lifespan. Yet he evinces the
normal human conceit of
personal pride, lavishly
anointing himself with
perfume, its scent too
marching proudly before him.
