5.16.15 In between all things, I sit quietly and crack nuts

 

Outside early this Saturday morning, the rain was the welcome surprise, quietly falling from the skies, as the forest and conservation fields and gardens drank and drank, and shone with wetted bright colors. 

As more birds hatched in carefully constructed nests, hawks bleat to each other across the outwaters, and the mosquitoes appear to be having the earliest, most award winning year here, despite the dry dry spring. 

To go outside, you must be covered. Raincoat pulled tight around your face, herbal stuff sprayed upon legs and shoes and pants. Usually we have a respite until July, to get the gardening ahead and mulching and so on. And then disappear indoors, unless you drive somewhere and walk from there. 

Yet, outside all is glorious and growing, the Woodcock quietly raising their tiny young nearby in the woods, as precious days come and go, and in between all things, I sit quietly and crack nuts.

5.15.15 Down by the river, we walked together

Down by the river and the farmer's fields of rich silt soil, we walked together on the dusty dirt road , as the Killdeer darted about with their warnings, and a Kestrel swept, wings motionless, across the sunset sky.

As we bid goodnight to the sun, to the cloud cover putting to bed the sun.

5.16.15 We humans so often yearn

We humans so often yearn for the right and wrong, and for it to seem clearly delineated for all, or preferably, just ourselves, to determine. 

Then, there's our propensity to engage in wishful thinking when it comes to the irritating reality that different ways and beliefs fit different people, places and times. 

History is replete with our blind compulsion to impose our values on others . And like any moral five-year-old, we pretend that not only IS there a best, but that OURS is it. 

I wonder if this is how we come to be so adamant with regards to our choices; with what we deem 'right'. 

Because we tire of the malleability of change and responsiveness, the adaptability and growth that enhances our capacity to survive.

5.15.15 " Art promises escape, but never delivers more than a mirror." Schmegel

5.15.15 Parrying its own

In his family they 

speak too little 

In mine ,they 

say too much

As swallows dip 

and renege fallflies

and this day turns sharp

into its shoulder

parrying it's own 

quiet tales

While I realize how my

culpable insistence 

counts on too little

demands too much

4.14.15 In the morning, the air was fresh and cool and clear

  

In the morning, the air was fresh and cool and clear, so it seemed a safe bet to go down the road to one of the paths leading up the small mountain range. 

Leaf filled forest, blindingly bright green! A minimum of mosquitoes, and residual signs of various wild creatures for Dante and I to thoughtfully examine.

 Owl pellets dropped along the trail, small animal feces here and there. Bear scoring on trees and huge rocks, announcing their territory.

 As we climbed up the trail, me hooting and hollering now and again, as it was a bit early; no use catching deer or large furred beings unaware. The small brook was meager in this dry spring, the forest floor coming alive with fern and Squawvine and Lady Slippers and their intricate pink pouches, and so much more. 

As I tossed the ball far and wide, and he delighted in an off leash ramble, 

once again, coming back to the land that snow and winter precluded for so long.