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It’s a spring rite of passage, finding the discarded shells of hatching robins below the towering maple tree. The beauty of the color stops me in my tracks and I am compelled to examine the shell fragment, imagining the chick that triumphantly emerged, and soaking in that stunning blue.
Continue reading “Haiku: Blue Is The Color Of Hope”
Singing at 2 a.m…who does that? The mockingbird, of course. I suspect we have a healthy population of them here, based on the nests I’ve come across over the years and the sheer numbers of them I’ve seen at the feeders. Clever creatures, they are. And, when the stillness of night (or the predawn wee hours) reigns, they’re loud.
While I appreciate the mockingbird’s enthusiasm, I do wish it would stick to singing during daylight hours..! 😄
Among the growing grass littered with tiny flowers, where it’s quiet and dewy, violence occurred. All that was left as testament to the life of a rabbit was bits of velvety brown fur; of a songbird, bright yellow feathers, strewn upon the ground.
Continue reading “Haiku: Evidence Of Endings”
Just because someone dies, their presence doesn’t simply disappear – sometimes, loved ones may visit in dreams or appear in daydreams. I often “see” one particular soul, missed dearly, in manifestations of nature…I think of her daily, though she has not been here now for years. And I will think of her until I am no longer here.
Life is a dichotomy of joy and sorrow, each (unfortunately) seemingly in fairly equal measure, and not subject to our will. I will not avoid sorrow because doing so means I also avoid joy. I’ll hold fast to the joy and hope the sorrow simply crashes over me like waves at the shore: they may batter me, but I’ll get back up, shake the sand out of my suit, and be glad that I had the chance to swim in the glorious sea.
One of the surest signs (other than the fabulous uptick in laying by the poultry) of spring’s impending arrival is the sudden, almost magical, reappearance of the dependable day lilies. Though they die each season, leaving just the detritus of dry stems poking up from the ground, one day, tiny green shoots appear…and, soon, the reborn blooms will assert their fiery orange cheer on the world. I eagerly await their return!
A few days ago, it felt as if spring might never come…that the cold, wet, and gloom were here to stay, seeping into the very soul. The dour gray sky seemed to press downward with indifference for human discomfort.
With the return of the sun, however, the pall has lifted, and the atmosphere is celebratory: birds are singing and making nests, the grass is greening up, chickens and ducks are laying eggs, and Nature seems (like me) to be smiling today. Though it’s technically still winter, just the suggestion of brighter days is enough to encourage hope to rise like the sap in the silver maple tree. Think spring!