History, Natural History & the Arts
In the Ravine
Carpenters Creek
At the far edge
of the creek’s gurgle
sword ferns thrive in the shadows
up the bank in the cool
beneath cedar boughs.
In a piercing shaft of sunlight
a single strand of spider silk gleams,
while a white trillium flashes as shocking
as real love, so delicate and brilliant
in the dark forest gloom.
Adirondack Blue
Wind-spun cirrus clouds
Heaven’s cotton batting
Sky background that blue
we call “Adirondack blue”
St. Paul’s Ephesians letter
lays peace to a Quiet Mind
See how Black-eyed Susans
stare Autumn-ward now
Photography
is the waterfall
carved by the
elements, a river
bed ticking away,
layer by layer, the
salty, smoked scent
of sycamore mist.
Changes
Broken by brief rain
dull heat disappears
tail between its clouds
I recall late-August
mornings as a child
dressing by the fire
Oatmeal bubbled thick
in big blackened pot
Mountains unmoved
since we went to bed
Clouds now crest them
heavily like a toddler
riding your shoulders
Getting Better
Stand by a small stream,
creek or rivulet and listen.
Listen how water
finds its way around the stones
or logs lying in shallows.
Though you do not know
the language let it flow
into your mind and soothe.
This in a world that seems
to be flying apart. At that
small stream and with
both feet planted and ears open,
arrive at where you are.
Then, as you move forward
mulling its murmured monologue,
take its blessing with you.
By August We Pray for a Killing Frost
This summer our bumper zucchini
crop way outweighed
the entire oeuvre of Puccini.
Neighbors early on inveighed
against the chronic lack of canning jars.
By mid-July you couldn’t give a squash away.
People started locking their cars.
I logged my days’ cholesterol work-out miles
wheeling barrows-full to multiple compost piles.
Down by the Pond
When I was 10,
I had a gift. I knew
what silence
meant to frogs.
Adirondack August
Cutting wood and carrying water
Mind empty with no effort
Nearly stepped in the spring
I hum all day and no repetition
Wind soughs through fir balsams
Night silence so thick I hear it
Can’t keep things straight
Stars don’t seem to mind
Finally
After roasting chicken
and asparagus on the stones,
they used to hold each other,
the same way the turquoise Moon
holds the storm, gently over
a lean-to on the Cedar River Flow.
Encounter on the Moose River
Startled by steps-
that New Balance
bounce- like Boeing
jets gliding through
the metallic twilight
of a perfect aloneness,
a blue heron hides be
tween two teal wings,
folding and glittering,
holding eyelids near the
fleeting shadows of a
river’s moving stillness.