Tag: nature

Mindfulness

Even as we harvest
the fruits of our endeavors,

as the leaves of summer
give over to golden dreams

and light reaches through
gathering clouds, illuminating,

celebrating; we must not forget
that we are a part of this living

miracle, that our lives, in harmony
with Nature, deserve reverence.

Small is Beautiful (Poem and Photos)

Nature’s artistry
inspires awe –
jewelled throats
and iridescent curves

flight of the bumblebee 2

Calming hues
and contrasts
that buzz with
dedicated passion

Monarch 3

The vibrancy of wings –
intricate detailing –
orange floating
on unseen hands.

(Lens-Artists Photo Challenge is: small is beautiful)

Afternoon Visitor

Elegantly attired, he arrives,
focused on an afternoon feast –
garter snakes hiding in bushes –
hadn’t counted on human presence,
interrogates me with hawkish eyes,
just long enough to be immortalized.

(Written for dVerse, hosted by Lilian, who challenges us to create an alphabetical sestet.  To find out more or join in, click here.  Photo credit: V.J. Knutson)

 

Cricket Cacophony

Clouds cluster, warn of coming storms.   Having been shut in for days, I am anxious to get outside.  Trusty camera carefully secured around my neck,  hands firm on walker’s grip, I begin my slow stroll through the neighbourhood.   A gust of wind disrupts the flight of a bumblebee, and we collide: he striking my cheek.  I step back, startled.  No damage done.

I follow a walkway, built between the houses, leading to our community center. This route takes me past rows of flourishing gardens – a feast of vibrancy.  I slow to watch the bees delightedly dancing from bloom to bloom.  At the edge of my friend’s house, I hear the crickets, loud and raucous, as if they know that she is currently away.  I pause to listen, surprised to hear such unabashed chirping mid-day.

Lingering, I hope to catch a glimpse of one, maybe even a photograph, but the creatures are securely tucked in the shadows of the overgrown foliage, oblivious to my presence.   I capture the flight of a bee, and the elegant profile of a mourning dove, and then turn back. A white winged moth brushes my hand in passing and then stops long enough for me to take a picture.  The crickets keep on singing.

Midday crickets sing –
revel in nature’s bounty,
as storm clouds gather.

(Written for dVerse, hosted tonight by Victoria.)

Night Calls

A shrill note
pierces night’s curtain –
an insistent, pestering alarm

Is it loneliness
that motivates the caller –
the need for a warm body
to calm her feathered fears
or a throaty hum to lull her?

Or is this an infant cry,
a hunger for nourishment
anxious in separation
waiting for mother’s
regurgitated assurances,
father’s watchful stance.

An onerous honk
breaks through
the high-pitched peep
and then, as
warmth wanes
a softer, sweeter
melody presents
followed by
a laughing trill

avian pleasure
prefacing night’s slumber.

Blurring Blogging Lines

“Morrell Nature Sanctuary” is a poem I wrote for the Story Circle Network’s poetry writing group.  It is also my post today for my other blog (non-poetry, mostly non-fiction), One Woman’s Quest II.

If interested, check it out.

Just curious:  Did you even know I had a second blog?

Have a good day!

Vancouver Island

Is it the robins, whose morning song, so sharp and crisp awakens me in this enchanted place or the warble of Juncos, whose hooded black faces delight me as they forage between the dried, curled aftermath of a cold winter, now pushed aside by new life sprouting.  The absence of rain drops on tin roof offer promise that the sun might appear today, the buds on the oak trees as anxious as I for the warmth.  I raise the window shades to reveal the lush green of Douglas firs, the walls that divide us from our neighbours, nomads like us in this quest to commune with a simpler way of life.  We are metal boxes tucked within green pockets, quiet souls hushed by the grandeur of the forest we currently call home, reticent to disturb the wildlife that also grazes here – squirrel, fox, and rumours of cougars. Occasionally bear.  We are skirted on one side by marsh, a lush welcoming for geese and goldeneyes, and on the other by ocean, where seagulls and terns claim driftwood as perches.  It is the raven who is master of this land, their large black wings casting shadows, their thrumming call, sometimes belligerent, sometimes like a purr, a reminder that this is their land, that the totem poles that dot the island are a testament to their place, their royalty. Offshore, seals roam in masses encouraged by the schools of trout and halibut, and soon the salmon runs.  Orcas gather in semi-circular formation, readying the hunt.  Spring is a time of proliferation – abundance after the winter chill.

arise, old woman
nature evokes new rhythm –
spirit wants to dance.

(Day 12 of NaPoWriMo invites us to write a haibun.)

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