Category: Nature

It’s Busy Eating

Photo by Monica McHenney

Was there something delicious on the maple tree? It wasn’t the seeds, those sharp red propellers. Soft pod, brown, almost gray, shriveled as if it was a dried up blossom.

Squirrels eat maple flowers. They also chew the tubes on our irrigation system. Five gnawed holes, half an inch apart. No luck plugging them. When the sprinkler goes off, water spurts to soak the ground under the Tipu tree. 

The squirrel has a greedy little face as it pulls the branches to it, plucks the blossoms, takes a nibble, and tosses the husk away. We face off. His says, “Entitled.”

Max

Photo by Monica McHenney

Max hopes that Kohnan might come back to live with us. He checks for him sometimes. He stands in front of Kohnan’s bed and sniffs the air. Kohnan’s toy hedgehog still smells like our little black friend. Sometimes, Max seems quite puzzled. Everything is the same; but Kohnan is missing.

Max comforts us by licking our feet in the morning while we eat breakfast. Perhaps it’s because the warm weather has made our skin salty. But I remember that for months after Max moved in, he licked our feet and our knees. This is the way dogs say, “It’s okay.”

A Quiet Morning

Photo by Kevin Menajang on Pexels.com
Exiled to the backyard,
While inside the termite inspector inspects,
Kohnan limps to the door,
Pleads with liquid brown eyes.
He doesn’t bark; has no energy for that these days.

“He’s friendly.” 
The inspector nods. Kohnan sidles in quietly.
He’s drawn blood.
He can be protective, even with friends.
Not now. Mornings he wakes up slowly in a fog of old age.

He’s at my feet, 
Moving his head to the sound of steps in the attic.
The sun falls in patterns, 
Warms my legs, his arthritic hips.
Warmth is welcome to us both, we’re grateful spring is coming fast.

Rabbits, Radish, Rap

Photo by Laura Lumimaa on Pexels.com

Few people knew that the famous rap singer was a radish farmer. Between tours she tended  three-acres in Mendocino. She did it for the bunnies. 

Most of her neighbors were pot farmers. They had turned the neighborhood into a bunny-free zone thanks to the crop they grew. Bunnies get very sick from THC. But the rap singer brought the bunnies back. 

Soon, they were stripping her radishes of their tops. The singer built a studio in the barn where bunnies danced the bunny hop and ate radishes. The singer’s new sound, munching and thumping, was a huge sensation.

Radish, Rabbits, Rapping Redux

Photo by Petar Staru010deviu0107 on Pexels.com
Rapping rabbits, reaping radish,
Ruddy, spicy, earthy, raffish.
Crunchy red, dicey tribe,
Nibbles, wiggles, saucy vibe.

Hey, yeah, whatcha saw,
In the garden, giant maw.
Open, rapping, tails snapping,
Radish beat and bunny dapping.

Dig it, dig it, from the soil,
Dig that radish, toil, toil.
Little claws feed little maws.
Eat the beat, cure the blahs.

Hey haw, whatcha saw?
Peter Rabbit in a brawl,
Fists be punchy, throw a paw.
Gonna call em, call the law.

Sirens sound a red alert.
Sirens scream one damn loud blurt.
Leave the fields, hop the fence,
Dude don’t owe no recompense.


‘Tis the Season

Photo by Adnan Uddin on Pexels.com

Along a woodsy trail in the deepest forest you’ll find a steady light if you look hard. Wish on it. If your heart is pure and you know the meaning of the season, your wish will come true. But then you won’t be believing me, will you?

No influencer am I. Not one you’ll find on Tik Tok or Instagram. Not one to hype the latest thing. But I tell you, take that walk, find a log, sit a while. A small brown bird will land on a branch. A doe might feed, a squirrel might chatter. Anything can happen. 

Frost on the Roof

Photo by Peter Kessler
Crystal White sleeps through spring and summer. 
Tats fine lace on crisp fall days. In winter, an icy wraith,
She crusts roofs, coats bare branches.
Under deciduous trees, leaves clump, stiff to the ground. 

She casts a spell. Keeps me warm abed.
Reluctant to heed the call of morning’s light, I dream of fragrant gingerbread. 
Relaxed under a blanket, I peruse the glossy pages of a travel book.
A fire warms the room. The logs crumble to embers.

Resigned, I set aside all thoughts of reprieve. 
Dark days are coming, 
Winter before spring. 
Grim hiatus, but these trials will pass.

Living on the Edge of Time

Photo by Robert Schrader on Pexels.com

The dust flew in front of her broom raising a cloud in the moonlight. She swept when she wanted, ate when she pleased. The rhythm of the ocean, the lighthouse, and her life as caretaker filled her days and nights. The flashing Fresnel lens, its light constant, guided sailors in the worst weather. Guided them safely to shore. A guide is what she’d become. She knew the rocky, sandy, sea-stained cliffs.

She knew enough to steer clear. She’d learned on her own wreck of a life. In the damp ocean air, she watched the moon cycle through never changing phases.

Polite Turkeys

Photo by Monica McHenney

These turkeys were not plump. Their tail feathers didn’t fan behind them like traditional Thanksgiving birds in a children’s art project. I didn’t detect a red wattle around their necks. The ladies flock, soft spoken and prim. They make me question the news stories about grumpy, aggressive turkeys.

A mob of turkeys, a gang of turkeys, some turkeys might be felons, but not all of them. They’re not all alike anymore than people are all alike. It’s our diversity that saves us. I’d like to think so anyway. Still, we have a tendency to flock together, we birds of a feather.

Owl

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It was dark when I opened the door for the dog to go out. A few minutes later, the silhouette of a Great Horned Owl appeared, silent on the phone wire. No wing beats announced it. The markings, bars, eye rings, all were obscured by night. Only the size and the tufted ears gave it away.

The owl looked down as Kohnan walked into the open back yard. I followed, worried the dog might look appetizing. I called to him. He had no fear, but I’m a coward. I grabbed him, pulled to get him inside while he squirmed, insulted.