Wordless Wednesday 9.19.18
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Category Archives: Animalia
morning stirs
The clock shows six a.m. Maybe. My eyes don’t quite focus first thing in the morning. My dog Chules has awakened me with his gentle “woof” from halfway down the hall. I don’t know how he expects me to hear such soft greetings, but I do hear them, almost every time. I rise and make my way down the hall to the front door where Chules now waits. “What kind of day do you suppose it is today?” I ask. Chules answers as usual with a generous tail wag and an expectant smile. He doesn’t prejudge days. He’s very Zen about that kind of thing.
I prop the door open with my Himalayan salt crystal. The lamp inside broke some time ago, but it’s quite heavy and makes a perfect door stop, so there it sits. Chules steps out to the porch and plops down on the cool cement. The lyrics from a Dan Fogelberg song enter my head.
Yes it’s going to be a day // There is really no way to say no // To the morning.
Chules’ eyes meet mine. Does he hear the song, too? In my imagination, I hear us both saying, “Yes.” A most hearty yes to the morning.
morning stirs awake
day unfolds to greet the sun
petals of summer
Rodent Robbers
Snap! smacks the mouse trap,
as the spring is spryly sprung.
The trap slaps shut with a jolt abrupt.
Now the deadly deed is done.
Wheeze! breathes the brave mouse,
as she gasps to grasp some air.
That’s how it goes when the cheese she chose
is a ploy plied to ensnare.
Voilà! exclaims the vainglorious vole.
“You disdained and disbelieved
that a twig tip-tapped could trip the trap.
Such a clean scheme I conceived.”
Shush! shouts the shaking mouse.
“It was I who death defied.
Put a plug in your pompous prattling
while we partake of our purloined prize.”
Turning In
It is 10 PM. My dog Chules stares up at me from the floor, where he has been sleeping most of the evening. He wants to catch my eye so I will realize it is bedtime. I’m not sure how he distinguishes between his many naps and bedtime, nor do I understand why he feels responsible for getting me to turn in at this particular hour. Nonetheless, bedtime it is.
As per ritual, I open the front door so he can go outside and relieve himself one last time. Not wanting to draw moths to the light inside, I step out onto the porch, close the door, and wait in the dark for Chules to finish his business. Sometimes he gets right to it, sometimes he goes off on a final check of the yard’s perimeter. On warm nights like tonight, he is just as apt to sit on the lawn and gaze at the stars. I join him in sitting and gazing, though I’m certain our ruminations run on very different tracks.
it is quiet tonight except for the chirping of crickets. I don’t recall having heard them for quite some time, and I find comfort in the familiarity of nature’s music. So much of it has gone missing. After a time, I stand and Chules comes trotting back to the porch. We go inside and — having settled my mind and his kidneys — we retire to our beds in peace.
crickets serenade
on dark, warm nights I eavesdrop
songs not meant for me
Wordless Wednesday 7.18.18
Wordless Wednesday 6.13.18
on wings
Scissors in one hand, hen in the other, a couple of quick snips and the wing tips swirl to the ground. Keeps ‘em from ‘flying the coop’, the farmer says. He releases the hen. She takes a moment to regain her balance, then runs to the opposite side of the pen where she flaps and clucks her objections. Isn’t it rather cruel to clip their wings, I wonder? Nah, the farmer says. It doesn’t hurt them, and ‘sides, if they don’t like it, they can leave. The farmer chuckles at the irony of his own joke and reaches for another hen.
boundless sky beckons
anticipation takes flight
gravity prevails
dVerse Haibun Monday — Complexity of Freedom
WPC – Last Call
The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge will be ending as of this month, so for the final wrap up I am sharing some of my favorite photos that I have taken over the years. Some you may have seen on this blog before, some not. I hope you enjoy them.
The Daily Post weekly photo challenge: All-Time Favorites
Dog Weather
Come outside, it’s raining!
Damp tree scents tickle our noses;
delicious, earthy chills.
Raindrops splash in puddles.
Watch them dance; taste the freshness.
Hear the rain trickle through
moss-furred branches overhead.
Feel the wet soaking in.
Then back inside to shake it all off.
dVerse Quadrille: Don’t rain on my parade!
The Daily Post weekly photo challenge: Liquid
The Grand Scheme
This week’s Daily Post photo challenge asks “Where do you belong?” and the challenge is to “show us your Place in the World … give us a glimpse of who you are in the grand scheme of things.”
In the grand scheme of things… hmm.
To begin with, my place in the world is under the sun.
That’s the grand scheme part. But where do I belong?
I belong in the space where the currant bush that was given to me by my sister grows.
I belong where I can watch the changing of the seasons on an ivy-covered wall.
I belong where wildlife visitors are welcome to drop in (with some notable exceptions, i.e. rodents and wasps).
I belong where I can share a red table, a blue chair and a quasi-green lawn with a white dog.
The place where I feel most at home is — well, at home.
But in the grander scheme, my thoughts and energy, and even these words I’m typing right now reach far beyond the expanse of greenery that surrounds my home. So for a glimpse of who I am, get a glimpse of who you are, and there you will find me, too.
Unless you’re a rodent. Or a wasp.
What Rhymes with Stanza? 