nature
5. The Carrion Sky
The stark reality of loss, and the heavy silence that follows. (August Friedrich Schenck, ‘Anguish’)
The Carrion Sky
(Snow. Static. The world pared to bone-white, sky-grey.)
A breath held—
(the ice-scythe wind)
no, released. A final sigh,
unheard. The ledger snaps shut. Click.
Crows stitch the shroud of sky,
black beads on a broken rosary.
They keen their cold communion.
(My lamb. My little sun. Millie's light extinguished, Mr. Kitty's fading...)
Their shadows: ink spilled on snow,
an unreadable script of what is.
The heart, a frozen clod.
(Thump. Pause. Thump.)
This silence, yes. This is the seal.
My quiet rebellion: to choose the cold,
to own the ending they would not write.
No more the pleas, the documented cries
lost in the corridors of their indifference.
Only this: the dignity of snow,
the stark acceptance of the gathering dark.
(I tried. My warmth a failing wick for those I cherished.)
This is the absolution.
Not given, but taken.
A final word, whispered to the frost:
I am. Still.
Even as I become the hush.
The house your Dad built
We're building out at Hollingen
She said and
I was impressed
Not yet used to the semantic broadening
Oh, I thought your husband was in sales
Did he grow up on a farm?
I was transferring my culture
From the Manitoba prairies to our new context
Here in the west coast of Norway
All the farm kids back home were handy.
No … um… we’re not building it ourselves?!
Oh, I said, the truth slowly dawning.
No, no, we're paying a company. No, we’re not actually
Building it ourselves, of course.
She laughed. I didn't.
Guess I was still fighting with my own insecurities
City kid from a farm town,
Living as we were
In the house your Dad built.
Norway is the most beautiful country
In the world
Your Dad stopped his digging
Wiping the sweat from his brow.
I was thinking …
Well … the world’ s a pretty big place but
I managed to hold my tongue for once.
And Molde is Norway’s most beautiful town, he continued.
He stopped and looked over the fjord
And the beautiful panoramic view
I was fighting the foreigner’s impulse
To provincialize the parochial pater
And this … he stamped his spade
into the moist earth …
Is Molde’s most beautiful yard.
It was a grand slam a
Hat trick, the full Monty and I
Held my tongue, for once,
A stranger and pilgrim in this paradise.
They called her Dagmar, 2011 –
I’d never encountered such a storm
That night the whole house shook
And the roof and windows rattled.
I lay awake and felt the power of nature
Measure itself against your Father’s craft.
I was nearly certain then, that this time
She would prevail.
All night the west wind raged
Til I drifted off at last into a restless sleep.
I awoke the next morning to the sound of the lark and the robin
And the sun shining on the clear blue fjord
Thankful for this life here with you
In the house that your Dad built.
Golden Ratio's Grace
Where Pythagoras meets divine design,
Three points unite, a triangle unfolds;
Ancient wisdom intertwined with lines,
Beauty born of numbers, a story untold.
Three points unite, a triangle unfolds;
Kepler's vision, a cosmic embrace;
Beauty born of numbers, a story untold,
In the spiral's dance, a human face.
Kepler's vision, a cosmic embrace;
Imperfect symmetry, perfectly true;
In the spiral's dance, a human face,
Flawed and faceted, yet shining through.
Imperfect symmetry, perfectly true;
Where Pythagoras meets divine design;
Flawed and faceted, yet shining through;
Ancient wisdom intertwined with lines.
Kepler Triangle
In sacred geometry, a shape takes flight;
Three points converge, a trinity divine;
Golden ratios whisper, ancient and bright;
A symbol of harmony, a cosmic sign.
Three points converge, a trinity divine;
Angles align, a dance of precision;
A symbol of harmony, a cosmic sign;
In the heart of the universe, a hidden vision.
Angles align, a dance of precision;
Shadows and light paint a mystical seal;
In the heart of the universe, a hidden vision;
Mysteries of creation, silently revealed.
Shadows and light paint a mystical seal;
Golden ratios whisper, ancient and bright;
Mysteries of creation, silently revealed;
In sacred geometry, a shape takes flight.
LISTENING TO RAIN
LISTENING TO RAIN ON THE WINDOW PANE
CALMS YOUR BRAIN WHEN IT IS TAME
IF IT COMES DOWN HARD AND FAST
THEN I HOPE THAT IT WON'T LAST
WHEN IT'S GENTLE I MUST SAY
I'D LOVE TO LISTEN ALL DAY
The Symphony of Woodpeckers
The Symphony of Woodpeckers
In the forest's heart, where shadows play,
Woodpeckers thrive in their unique way.
From Picus viridis, green and bright,
To others that grace the woods with might.
European Green Woodpecker (Picus viridis)
In emerald hues, the green woodpecker,
With rhythmic beats, it marks its sector,
pü-pü-pü-pü-pü-pü-pü,
A melody both wild and true.
In meadows lush, it hunts for ants,
With probing tongue, it takes its chance.
It drills for prey in hollowed trees,
Where insects dwell, it finds its ease.
Downy Woodpecker (Picoides pubescens)
Small and spry, with a gentle call,
Its tiny beak, a tool for all,
*pik* it cries, with whinnying fall,
In suburban parks, it stands tall.
It flits through trees with nimble grace,
In orchards sweet, it finds its place.
On suet feeders, it will dine,
In winter months, a lifeline fine.
Hairy Woodpecker (Picoides villosus)
Larger kin with a bill so long,
Its drumming fast, a rapid song,
*peek!* it calls, a sharp, strong tone,
In deeper woods, it finds its home.
With powerful pecks, it drills for prey,
In towering pines, it spends its day.
It scales the bark to find its feast,
In beetle larvae, it finds peace.
Pileated Woodpecker (Dryocopus pileatus)
A giant with a crest of flame,
Its powerful peck, a forest claim,
tap̚tap̚tap̚, it carves its niche,
In ancient trees, where secrets stitch.
In forests old, it digs for grubs,
With mighty force, it splits the shrubs.
Its laughter rings through wooded halls,
In courtship flights, it swoops and calls.
Northern Flicker (Colaptes auratus)
With spotted belly and a bib of black,
It forages ground, no need to hack,
kyü-kyü-kyück, it calls with grace,
In open fields, it finds its place.
On grassy plains, it seeks its feast,
With ants and beetles, it finds peace.
It drums on ground in rhythmic dance,
In courtship's spell, it takes its chance.
Three-toed Woodpecker (Picoides tridactylus)
In northern woods, where spruces stand,
It scales the bark with skilled hand,
Removing strips to find its prey,
In beetle galleries, it stays.
Its quiet taps are soft and light,
In snowy realms, it finds delight.
Each species, unique in form and song,
Evolved to fit where they belong,
From beak to call, each niche they fill,
A testament to nature's will.
With varied beaks and feathers bright,
They've carved their paths in day and night.
In dappled light, where leaves entwine,
Woodpeckers dance, a sight divine,
With every tap̚, a note of grace,
A symphony in nature's space.
So let us laud these feathered sprites,
In morning's glow and moonlit nights,
For woodpeckers, diverse and fair,
Bring music to the woodland air.
Sentinel of Spring.
Sentinel of Spring.
Cherry petals drift on Osaka's breeze,
Millie's ears perk, her nose twitches, pleased.
We wander winding paths, her paws padding soft,
As blossoms burst in clouds of pink and white aloft.
Okawa's waters whisper and wind,
Reflecting castle walls that climb and shine.
Millie's eyes, bright and wise, scan the scene,
Her tail wags time to Spring's new theme.
Sakura scents swirl, sweet and strong,
Millie sniffs, savoring each note of the song.
We climb stone steps, worn smooth by time,
Her loyal presence, a comfort sublime.
At the summit, we pause, breathless, awed,
By beauty blooming, history thawed.
Millie sits, sentinel at my side,
As cherry-tinged winds around us glide.
Down by the river, petals float,
Like tiny pink-hued fairy boats.
Millie splashes, playful and free,
Her joy infectious, pure glee.
In this foreign land, familiar love,
My canine companion, gift from above.
Together we witness Spring's grand display,
In Osaka's embrace, this perfect day.