Saturday, September 27, 2014

Ninty eight . . .

Pre Autumn Oaks
by Stormcat

August fifteenth! It's a dark dawn this morning! Seems strange because the sky is clear. Then I realize that the summer is waning, that it’s only a bit more than a month till the autumnal equinox.  The old ones know, and the squirrels, it's never too early to prepare for winter . . . Eleven oaks surrounding the house and this is the bumper year . . .  acorns, like a hailstorm. fall like missiles, point first, semicircular husk trailing. I wonder how many squirrels die from being hit on the head.  I see the striped squirrels hiding under the spruce and hemlock, racing out to grab a nut, then, just as fast, retreating to safety beneath the thick boughs.

August sixteenth! Another frog came in the house tonight. It trapped itself in a small box and I heard it jumping desperately trying to get the angle to clear the lip, but each time ramming into the sides. Surely it could have easily jumped out because when I tipped the box on its side it hopped away taking five and six foot measures with each leap. Now came the task of catching and taking it out . . . it couldn't survive here in the house. So I tracked it into the living room, then under the wood stacked next to the stove then out into the kitchen past the pantry into the laundry room down the stairs to the garage and finally cornered it. It squirmed and pushed as I took it into my hands, but I held firmly and comforted it by telling it that now it was going to be much happier outside in the leaves under the bushes. Then I went a little way out the back door, cover of darkness, and set it in the leaves, bidding my new friend a fond farewell. . .  I love frogs!

August seventeenth! Still dark at 5:30 AM?! No clouds? Made coffee, then felt a craving for the fresh beets and carrots stored in the fridge. The beet greens were far too old to eat so I placed them in the compost bucket with the carrot tops. . .  everything was parboiled, chilled, then shredded and made into a tasty late morning dish with crumbled goat cheese, provincial herbs, olive oil, sherry vinegar, and crushed pecans. A glass of Rhone wine made it perfect and I wished my love was here to share it with me. (She would appreciate the pairing!) I didn't clean up right away . . . I never do when I'm alone. I just sat down at my desk and worked for a while. Later, when I cleaned up and took the greens out to the compost pile, is when I found it . . . my frog friend . . . a few feet from where I'd released it . . . splayed out dead on the leaves . . . an acorn beside it.

Copyright 2012, All rights reserved

Saturday, September 13, 2014

Ninety Seven . . .

Circular Reasoning
by Stormcat

companionship is fine as long as it doesn't interfere with solitude
solitude is wonderful until it turns into loneliness
loneliness can only be cured by appropriate companionship
no wonder the wise ones talk so much about balance . . .

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Ninety Six . . . .

Totem Song
by Stormcat

melancholy tonight are the hawks that sit on the wire
watching the charge that lives under their totem struggle
will he not finally listen to the wind whispering answers
to his yearning heart warning of hidden futility of
pushing the curtain of desire of seeking the trappings
of temptations’ reward not sins as some would admonish
just wasteful exercises with an outcome of disappointment

hawks know the wind well, they ride its boisterous lifting
song and soar the stratosphere thereon feeling the joy and
pain of its well traveled truth as having touched every nook
it brings the news across the far reaches of the heavens
news of love and pain, news of loss and gain, news that
inspires, news that teaches, news to frighten all creatures
even mirth of shocking birth death and life and futile strife

hawks bear his heart upon their wings and search his lost
desire bring news of meadows green blue skies over
waters serene and wherever goes that wandering muse
who seems to hold the source they'll bring back news
to guide him to all excellence and genius that only she
inspires when she lets rest his head on her firm breasts
that his ever searching soul at last will calmness know.

the world awaits that rapterous flight to catalyze
great love and usher in a rare and necessary truth beyond
the reach of solitary inspiration a synergistic truth
couched in the locked souls of the struggling individuals
unlocked only by their union their acquiescence to follow
the laws of universal rightness their mutual willingness

to join those hawks soaring on the true song of the wind

Copyright 2014 All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Ninety Five . . .

The Question
by Stormcat

Father . . . Where do the animals go when the storms come?
Don't worry about the animals, Son . . . 
                                                    God takes care of them!

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Midweek Motif (Stormy Weather)