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Category Archives: Nature

To Listen

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I hear the rustle of reeds

Where meadow meets pond

Wails and yodels of the loon

The flit-flutter of dragonfly wings

I have powwows with the stars while

Luna spills stories into my cupped hands

The stoic oak articulates to me, his fears

And I stroke his tired skin

I heed to the beat of my own heart

And the steady rhythm of silence

But when words sail from your tongue

To faraway places

I am still learning

To listen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For this week’s Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. I am your host and I am asking you to write a poem about something you are still learning. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.  Join us!

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Wonderment – A Haibun

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I arrive at the wetlands, bundled up for winter rather than spring. The trail beneath my feet is the same. The scene to either side is always different. One more cat tail swaying in the breeze or the entertaining sound of geese overhead making their semi-awkward landing on the pond. Where did they come from? How long were they gone? Who, pray tell is the leader and why? I don’t want to know the answers. I would rather be intrigued than informed.

My walks become my thoughts. That is the usual experience but today is different. I am walking for ten toddlers. Ten spongy toddlers absorbing new sights, sounds, textures and words.  My mission is to collect six different pieces of nature. These will be used to fill six plastic bottles, at which point they become “sensory bottles”, an activity of visual exploration and appreciation for the earth. As my steps become automatic, my eyes scour the ground for interesting specimens.

Sticks in a mixture of earthen colours, evergreen sprigs with intricate needles,  maple tree buds bursting, beach sand with driftwood and shells, a dried milkweed plant left open and exposed from winter’s freeze and finally, ten tiny pine-cones for counting. I imagine seeing these gifts for the first time through a two year old’s eyes. I head back along the trail’s paved loop. My pockets are full. My heart is fuller.

 

curious gosling

downy sun-kissed and wind-blessed

wide eyed and waiting

 

 

 

It’s Haibun Monday but this prompt is open all week! Bjorn is our host at dVerse Poets Pub and he has asked us to write a haibun about walking. Doors open at 3 p.m. EST.

 

 

Unanswered

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Where did your light come from?

Did you ever moon gaze under muted skies?

Did nature stir your soul?

I picked a flower for you today and wondered

Watching white floaties sailing into

Dandelion dreams and it seems

We never touched on this

 

 

 

For Open Link Night.  Grace is our host.  It is a pleasure to welcome Sarah Connor to the dVerse team. She was our lovely host for this week’s Poetics , introducing us to the artwork of Fay Collins for inspiration.

Image credit: Fay Collins

 

 

Ashen

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I embrace the grey. Where pavement glistens in the rain. Where clouds paint every inch of sky in shades of loneliness. I am touched by the greys of nature, stones peppered in hues of silver, the undersides of lifeless leaves, glistening beach sand and broken twigs.  My eyes wander off clear cut paths to spot the fluff of squirrels’ tails or the fringe of a bird’s feather now fallen. An ancient tree speaks to me in somber tones, begging to share his story. Does he remember the forest floors of ancient times? Or is it all a foggy blur? I caress the rough, dappled bark of a walnut tree. It’s ok. I’d love you anyway. Grey takes me to a place where black and white, wrong and right can mix and mingle into maybes.

 

 

dull sky, sparrow spies

the grizzle drizzle of grey

open wings take flight

 

It’s Haibun Monday, open all week at dVerse Poets Pub. Bjorn has asked us to consider grey as a subject for our haibun, ” to bring grey into a personal (non-fictional) piece of prose. Add to that a haiku (with season and nature)”. Feel free to join in with us.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Tour Guide

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In response to The Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge: Tour Guide

Welcome to a small town in southwestern Ontario, Canada. These are only two of our distinct and unique seasons.

 

 

Strong winds + bitter temperatures + river =  masterpiece.

 

Sunset over lake + para-sail + sense of adventure = summer solitude.

 

 

 

 

 

The Field

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We grew up here. The soft breezes of summer carry me from our white brick house to this place of solitude. My feet greet the weathered path, making the hollow, tapping sound I so remember.  Again I wonder how this hard packed earth can feel like clouds under my feet….but it does.  I love the tickle of tall grasses against my bare legs and how the skies match my eyes today. I still marvel at the delicate design of Queen Anne’s Lace as it stands stoic beside red clover. A grasshopper leaps ahead of me, dodging my every step. He has nothing to fear but I cannot resist the urge to pull apart a milkweed. The same silky threads still comfort me. I roll them between my palms and set them free. They dazzle like white satin in sunlight before the greenery embraces them.

My journey curves around a cluster of wild bergamot. I pause to inhale the scent of sweet citrus. Just ahead to the left of the trail I see the large crevice or “crater” as we called it. A place to pretend, when we used to do that. Golden rod bouquets border the path in brilliant yellow. I run my fingers along them as I pass. They seem to be early. Finally I reach the neighbour’s orchard where I once believed swiping a few apples was a major crime. “Run!!”, I remember saying to my brother. He just laughed at me….the way he always did.

 

 

nurtured by nature

summer silenced by the fall

some seeds will die young

 

 

 

Written for Haibun Monday

~ dVerse Poets Pub ~

The theme is “Hometown” and I am your host.

Doors open at 3 p.m. EST. Hope to see you there!

 

 

 

 

 

Unwritten

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An Italian leather notebook sits empty at my bedside. A gift from a dear friend with an encouraging,  handwritten message. The sun sneaks through wooden blinds just enough to illuminate dust particles dancing over it. I run my fingers across the engraved designs on the cover that seem to speak of great things to come. I look inside, as if expecting to find something that wasn’t there before. Between each fine line there is silence, words yet to be unraveled in garlands and strokes unique to me. A lovely pen waits for the warmth of my hands, but has lost all hope.

I type to the rhythm of my random thoughts wondering why this has become my only mode of composition. Somehow I have forgotten the crossing of t’s and dotting of i’s. I have left behind the curves and arches, loops and flairs. I have left behind a piece of myself.

 

frozen river breaks

mallard writes in cursive form

freed by early thaw

 

 

 

Written for Kim’s Haibun Monday. The theme of the prose is “communication through pen or pencil and paper, followed by a traditional Haiku that includes reference to a season.” You can join in too at dVerse Poets Pub. The prompt opens at 3 p.m. EST and is open all week.