Category Archives: nature

Summer Solstice

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The first day of summer dawns hot and dry; not like it used to here in the moderate Pacific Northwest of my youth. The air outside is stifling, so I stay indoors listening to the hum of the fan and worrying about the young plants in my nature garden. The shrubs and berries and grasses – all native to this area – are not supposed to need supplemental watering because they are acclimated to thrive in their natural environment.

But this climate, altered to unnatural heat and drought, is not what Mother Nature signed on for when she gave us the delicate mosses and ferns, the soft evergreen needles, the supple, shiny leaves of shrubs like snowbrush and Oregon grape.

This evening a breeze will pick up and give at least the illusion of coolness to the air. I will visit the garden to make sure the ladybugs, bees and butterflies have water in the little pool I made for them. And I will utter an apology on behalf of my species for the damages this planet has endured. The rain, when it comes, will be happily welcomed.

Imperceptibly,

summer solstice pendulum

pauses, shifts, recedes.

dVerse haibun Monday: Solstice I

Spring Harvest

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As my native habitat garden takes shape, I’ve been drawn to it almost daily. In the wet fall I checked for problematic standing water at the base of the young crabapple tree and marveled at the resilience of rain-battered kinnikinnick. In winter I fretted over snow-covered Oregon grape and ice-encased flowering currant.

As spring unfolded, I searched bare twigs for the slightest hint of green, watched tiny sprigs rise from the ground and swell into verdant foliage; and now – finally – flowers are maturing, bugs are pollinating and wild strawberries are sending out runners to claim yet more ground.  

I always considered autumn to be my favorite season with its crisp rain-filtered air, crunchy carpets of fallen leaves and trees dressed in flame-inspired palettes. Now, I believe my favorite season is whichever currently holds sway over my everchanging garden.

lupines point skyward

blooming flower moon beckons

who will eclipse whom?

For dVerse poets Haibun Monday: flower moon.

kinnikinnick
Oregon grape
red flowering currant
wild strawberries
large leaved lupine

Blue Sky

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The morning is spent, and me with it.

Hours of pulling weeds, spreading wood chips,

planning which shrubs to transplant where…

Some call it gardening.

It’s blatant manipulation, really;

rearranging earth’s flora to satisfy human aesthetic.

From my chair on the porch, I look skyward.

“Ah,” muse has joined me. “The sky is yours to ponder.”

I ponder muse instead. “The sky is mine?”

A scrub jay has been eavesdropping.

REE REE REALLY!?! his strident call inquires.

He flits away, a blue blur among green leaves.

WHO WHOOO WHO, questions a collared dove

from a tree further distant.

Who says the sky is yours?

I glare at muse. “See what you started?”

A lone grey pigeon cuts expanding circles above.

Owning the sky, eh, muse?

Usually, the homing pigeons fly in multiples.

Raised by a neighbor, I am told,

who lets them out regularly for exercise.

Are they his, I wonder? Or does he – in reality –

manipulate earth’s fauna for human enjoyment?

In the course of fifteen minutes three jets have passed overhead,

marring the bright blue sky with jagged white contrails.

Two big crows eye me from a nearby fence.

“No,” I sigh. “The sky is not ours.”

We just pollute earth’s elements for human convenience.

I’ve pondered enough. I’m going inside.

“The sky is mine,” I scoff, shaking my head.

“– to ponder… I said ‘to ponder’,” muse mutters.

“It was just a thought that struck me, like — out of the blue.”

“Tell that to the birds,” I say.

for dVerse poetics challenge: Blue Tuesday

Some magnets don’t stick

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Back in November of 2018, I discovered the joys of magnet poetry, and this website that facilitates playing (poeming?) online. I have a vague recollection that I was so excited, I committed to writing a magnet poem at least once a month. That lasted exactly two months.

So I’m recommitting to, uh, at least one more poem. Since 2018, they’ve added the option of choosing specific topics, and so the words that are “drawn” are easier to turn into something cohesive. For this poem, I used the “nature” option.

Nature Song

Breathe as the ancient forest.

Follow every warm wind.

Shine like a wandering soul,

and the rest is but a song.

Check out the link above and play along.