Category: Morning Meander

A Very Small Dog,
meek and mild,
runs into his kennel to hide.

Porcupine quills give away his secret:
He didn’t learn the first time.

Soft, small rain
Just larger than fog, enough to fall,
Soft, small rain early, pre-dawn, all over my skin.

Wonder-full.

Last night, I drove home through amazing fog and foliage
on a stretch of New Hampshire road that I have never seen before.

It was new and luxuriant in its gorgeousness, my senses feasted –
feasted and sated and yes.

I thank You God for most this amazing day.

tip-of-the-hat to e e cummings

A sweet and worthy rain,
very cool, very dense, with those big drops which spatter (you know the ones)
fell on the grass and dogs and me.

A worthy and delicious rain.

Thank you, Goddess of Rain, for this treat
and this laughter
and this running of four-foots and two-foot
and this safe, dry, warm house.

She makes me coffee the night before and puts the machine on a timer.

Acts of love.

I saw the bear sign this morning – wow!
The dogs told me all about it,

“Look!! Bear poop!”

And then they took me down, down a path that was “so lovely!”
That’s what they called it, “A Mhamaidh Glaiseun, come see! It’s so lovely!”

They say things like that.

Lucky me 🙂

Moon beyond the westward trees nevertheless reaches across to tempt the small stars to rest in her embrace,
Only a few, stronger stars remain on watch.
Eastward, sun calls the others to her.

Hunter, Big Dog, Little Dog, Twins, these only remain to guard the sky.

Mist rises from river and beaver bog up into perfectly clear sky.

Balance everywhere.

Gods chuckling with delight at a plan come together.

Can a tree be a poem?
I think that tree right there is a poem
and I will try to tell you about it:

Yellow, so yellow, the sun at sunset, so rich that it shifts toward orange
with stark, dark limbs
which reach eastward toward the gap between the sister-trees
which reach toward the pale yellow-green and the orange and the red and the pine and the nearly black hemlock
as though declaiming.

Can a tree be a poet?
I think that tree right there is a poet
and I will try to translate for you:

Sweet rain,
Dark, soft earth,
Sun, sun, sun,
Dance with me, sisters,
in the breeze.

I should write about NCOD and wish everyone luck.
Yes, much luck to you and bon courage!

Also, the stars are lovely this morning, clear as a bell.

Yet… the dog got sprayed by a mink, so here is today’s poem:

Mink
Stink.

Dripping from leaves.

Today I am fallen-on-my-knees grateful to live in the woods.

They welcomed me.

Total strangers (but then some became familiar), total strangers gathered to share words. What an absolute delight.

Thanks, Words!

The sky was full of pale, pale amethysts this morning when I stepped out.
They had been ground fine enough to hang in the clouds, no more massive than a bit of water vapor,
casting purple – or the hint of purple – across the sky and my eye and the day.

That was lovely.
Here’s to a lovely thing this morning.

It is a beautiful frost!
There must have been another one because I found ice, but I think I slept through the sparkle –

Now it is white fairy touch on gold-bronze mortal autumn.

Is it today?