Category: Nature

He’s Got to Pull His Weight

Photo by Blue Bird on Pexels.com

I was excited when this half-grown border collie came up the driveway, then I got worried. I told Pa, “Could be a working dog. They herd sheep.”

“We ain’t got no sheep.”

“Cows, maybe?”

“Don’t need no dog. Give him to John, he’s got sheep.”

I’d been asking for a dog since forever. “Might scare…”

The dog stuck his nose in the air. Something was rustling in the corn and out comes a big ol’ raccoon. The dog’s carrying on to beat the band and, miracle of miracles,  chases that raccoon clean away.

“Reckon he’ll do.”

I fed the dog.

More Heat, More Bugs

Photo by Piet Bakker on Pexels.com

A click beetle or a cockroach? It’s small. A thumbnail; less than a thumbprint. What is it doing in my house? Lost, I suppose. A wayward adolescent. It’s run away from home. It’s looking for a job. I would never hire it.

It’s reassuring to anthropomorphize this bug. I don’t want to imagine it climbing into the cupboards, eating up my pantry stock. Which brings to mind the black weevily bugs I found in the cranberry beans.

How Zen am I today? Should I start a bug circus? Get rid of all bugs for all time? Musings from an overheated brain.

The Shape of Summer

Photo by Jan van der Wolf on Pexels.com
The longest day of the year starts like many others,
Warmth, wind, light through the window. 

Mind quiet, there's one image from a dream.
One tree rooting, spreading, rippling in a half grown field. 
You must tend that field

Because it’s summer.

Solstice, not spring and fall equinox, bookends for the growing season. 
Not the fallow darkness of winter.
Summer, the middle months where the year’s threads weave together, still taking shape.
The place where imagination has taken you, but not yet left you.
The summer when there is light and warmth and life is a petri dish for productivity.

A Tree Shining on the Hill

Photo by David McElwee on Pexels.com

“This tree will be removed due to oak root fungus. Direct comments to…” Unprepared, for the posted notice, her heart stopped.

After Dave passed on, she’d sat under the canopy of the live oak, its small stiff leaves immune to drought. Their tree, his, hers. She watched chickadees play.  So much time had elapsed since they first met on that hill.

The tree stayed the same. It had reached maturity, or maybe it was so large that a few inches of growth didn’t register. Timeless, it had seemed destined to watch over the bay for all eternity. Nothing lasts forever.

The Escape Artist

Photo by Tony Zohari on Pexels.com

Tabby’s cage at the shelter was comfortably furnished. People were nice to her, but she wanted her freedom. One of your more adventurous cats, her motto was:  “Risks are for the taking.” She prowled through the catio looking for a way out.

She eyed the perimeter. From an adjacent field, the scent of fresh mice and catnip tempted her. She wiggled her butt and leapt to the top of a rug-covered cat tower. From there, she spied a hole at the top of the enclosure. No one was around. She scaled the six foot wire wall and made her escape.

A(u)nt Queens

Photo by Ray Suarez on Pexels.com

The bread was fresh and I was terrifically hungry, so I helped myself. 

My aunt scolded me. “Crumbs, you left crumbs. The ants found them and carried them in a line through the kitchen. They’re back for the sugar.”

I cleaned the floor where the ants had left a trail. She scolded me. “I’m getting fond of them. They have personalities. See that large one.”

”That’s the Queen.” 

“Where’s her crown?” 

“It’s her size.” 

My aunt, a large woman, pondered this. “We have that in common.”

They also love bread.

They are fast friends now, my aunt and the Ant Queen.

The Dark Reign of Winter

Photo by Ray Bilcliff on Pexels.com
Stride, stride, stride in rhythm, thunder, lightning, falling rain.
Sky dark bursts of water, soggy, wet, boggy, cold
Slow, slow, slow on reaching shelter, comfort, hearth and home
Build a fire, light it quick, make a pyre, a righteous pile
Of all that grieves, grieves, grieves a dark heart,
A burdened heart, weighed with sorrows, like bombs exploding
In black bursts of regret, regret, regret no solace yet.
Slowly warmth creeps through the air, beauty erupts in licks of varicolored flame.
Familiar objects tug, tug, tug at memory,
Filled with thoughts of times past when life was ours, and freedom.

Three AM Thoughts After Listening to a Zoom Featuring Robert Haas

Photo by Anton Klyuchnikov on Pexels.com
We met on the mountain at the halfway point between up and down. 
Hard-packed dirt bordered by scrappy shrubs 
and occasional candy wrappers, 
the path slid into loose gravel,
washboard erosion.
We braced, slowed, stopped. 
We stood face to face, more honest than when we fought,
voices raised in anger at slights so minor as to be unmemorable. 
We embraced, we wept, we sat on a boulder 
looked out on the sea, 
its azure blue, green, purple depths 
roiling, settling, welling up.
We wavered, pulled by the gravity of the moon and the earth.
We hovered between earth and sky.

Let Us Eat Chocolate

Photo by Leeloo The First on Pexels.com

The Easter Bunny wore a polkadot tie to the Last Supper. The feast was well attended. The patriarchs wore yamakas, clerical collars, or golden chains of office. They made nice on the dais as an example for others. It was the Easter Bunny who’d brought it to their attention. Holy wars, though none is really holy, were on the rise. 

Everyone agreed, if it got to Crusades level conflict, they’d need to call on Mother Nature to create another Great Flood. Yes, it was her. She gave a moving speech about climate change. The Easter Bunny passed out chocolate eggs.

It’s All Greek to Me

Photo by Alexas Fotos on Pexels.com

Rain came down in buckets. Frogs poured out. They hit the ground with a splat. No one knew how frogs had spawned in rainclouds, or if that was what had happened. But, absolutely, frogs were falling from the sky.

Some landed in marshes, maybe on their heads. They sang silly songs. They offended poetic sensibilities with ignorant chatter and stubborn opinions. Dionysus was out for his morning constitutional when he heard the cacophony. “Fetch those frogs for me.”

No one could. The frogs had leapt into the air, back into the clouds, loud, louder; oblivious to the noise they made.