Tag Archives: nature

These Have I Loved

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These have I loved:
the scattering promise of springtime sprouts in my wildflower garden;
the burbling waters of summer-lessened streams,
metallic-blue dragonflies zipping past ramrod straight cattails;
deep summer shade;
the musty smell of an old book, its thick, browning pages 
steadfastly preserving the author’s words
whether deserving of such honor or not;
well-earned rivulets of sweat streaking down one’s cheek 
after a spell of honest labor;
dusty brown feet sunk into the warm, soft dirt of a well-tended garden;
the triumph of pulling up a dandelion, its root completely intact;
an intriguing story;
old hymns sung in wobbling harmony by an age-burnished choir;
stained glass windows and the kaleidoscopic colors 
rendered by filtered sunlight;
short sermons;
old cemeteries, moss-covered tombstones with 
names scrubbed illegible by centuries of wear, 
family plots delineated with tired sagging fences;
curls of wood shavings, the crisp pitch scent released 
by newly planed pine boards;
antique woodworking tools with handles smoothed by 
generations of artisanal use;
well-brewed coffee and warmed almond croissants;
freshly churned buttermilk;
fresh baked bread;
a full recycling bin rolled to the curb;
unexpected blessings of chance, such as spotting a 
praying mantis ootheca just as its tiny residents emerge 
to face their next stage of life;
combing my fingers through the luxuriant undercoat 
of my fluffy white spitz; 
his generous smile as he greets my returns home;
stink eye glares from condescending cats;
time spent with my daughters, the delight of witnessing the loving, 
thoughtful women they have grown into;
grandchildren playing contentedly on a toy-scattered floor;
the smell of a newborn’s silky-soft head;
warm evenings, rocking chairs on the back deck, 
a curiously formed piece of wood to whittle…

All these have been my loves.

Inspired by a dVerse prompt from Kim:

Based on the second stanza of ‘The Great Lover’ by Rupert Brooke, “write a list poem that begins ‘These I have loved: ’ of the everyday things that are important or precious to you. Be specific, picking out tiny details, and don’t stop until you get to the bottom of the page. Finish with ‘All these have been my loves’.”

Pilgrim Ridge

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Day 14 of National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) 

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt:

try writing a poem that describes a place, particularly in terms of the animals, plants or other natural phenomena there. Sink into the sound of your location, and use a conversational tone. Incorporate slant rhymes (near or off-rhymes, like “angle” and “flamenco”) into your poem. And for an extra challenge – don’t reference birds or birdsong!

Here we go:

Pilgrim Ridge

Atop Pilgrim Ridge, miles from nowhere – 
no, that’s not an apt description;
Nowhere is quite near, in fact it’s right here –
crisp, pure silence defies definition
until one acclimates to the endless sky,
the light savory air,
the rocky ground stubbled in dry
remains of early summer wildflowers.

Leaning into the silence, one begins to hear
the percussive opening of a breeze-soft symphony;
gentle crackling of seed pods, split as the sun bears
down, the shaker of seed shot falling to ground,
a brush-on-cymbal swish of grasses swaying together,
the guiro scrabble of chipmunks skittering up
skinny pines to hide in long-needled shelter.
And then the music ratchets up.

The chipmunks begin their cuíca scoldings.
Wind chimes low tones in the clustered trees,
now weaving. Grasses are folding in the
hot air. A steady push now; no longer a breeze.
Clouds scuttle in and the thunder drum shakes,
first slow and lumbering, then brash, a 
crescendoing rumble
that ends with a lightning-bright quake,
and the diminuendo of tambourine rain.

Cuíca Sounds

Vancouver, USA Summer Spots (Walk #7)

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Photo: Salmon Creek, Vancouver WA

The 7th outing for the Summer Challenge walks took us to Klineline Pond. Fortunately we could do our gps check-in from the parking lot because – after paying the parking fee – we discovered that my fur buddy Chules was not welcome at the pond.

So we took a photo from afar. The pond area appears to be very lush and green.

See that dried brown area in the forefront of the pic? Yeah, that’s where Chules and I were delegated to be. Nonetheless, there is a path that parallels Salmon Creek, the stream that feeds into Klineline Pond, so we took that and got in a nice little scenic walk.

I think Chules took this next pic. I did my best to straighten it. He thinks it looks great.

The next photo is straight. It’s the tree that’s crooked.

Seven site check-ins down; eight to go!

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.

Lost and Found

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spider and bug

The spider works quickly to get the larger insect wrapped within its web. The insect doesn’t struggle; it may be dead. But the web is in tatters and shakes violently every time the spider moves. I watch the action, hoping the spider secures its hard-won meal before the web gives out.

Progress is slow, and my attention wavers. When I check back, the spider is sitting motionless in its sparse web, and the big catch-of-the-day is nowhere in sight. Has it fallen from the web? After all the spider’s hard work? I am compelled to make it right, find the bug. Maybe I can stick it back on the web somehow.

I part the plants beneath the spider’s web, and sure enough, there it is. Still wrapped in webbing. Still dead. But… moving? Two small ants have taken a hold of the hapless bug and are hauling it off as their own pre-wrapped prize. I am too late. Nature has already made it right.

nature’s web pulled taught
broken strands and gaping holes
mend on, weavers, mend

dVerse Haibun Monday — Lost and Found: Nature’s Magic