Three dogs met in Deep Run Park. They
wagged their tails, sniffed,
and kissed. One was
brown and white, one
black, and one brown. One was big and
one medium,
one was small. No
exclusion here.
What if, like those dogs, humans saw
other humans,
not color, race,
only humans?
There’s a stillness in the air
in anticipation of something
big to come. The birds are quiet,
the pond serene. A thin layer
of ice is creeping across the
surface of the water and Mr.
and Mrs. Mallard are swimming
to the far bank where the
heron hangs out, seeking a
safe place to settle. Luna
and I are enjoying our walk
knowing we may be housebound
tomorrow if the BIG Storm comes.
icy
hamlet
close to
pond’s edge
and pine
needles
scattered
into
distinct
patterns
Ripples of time
are moving me
closer, closer
to the edge where
mystery abounds.
May cold hearts
begin to melt
like thin ice
on a pond.
Then all shall
be well, all
shall be well.
Up at dawn, ski pants, snow
boots, mittens and warmest
coat found and pulled on
and a vest for Miss Luna.
We are the first to venture
out into the world of white.
And when we stop, the
total stillness, the silence
is there, always there.
Luna off leash prances
ahead, often looking back
to ensure I am still there.
I take baby steps to cross
the wooden bridge over
the creek listening to the
crunch of my boots. I see
bare branches transformed
into works of art. A gaggle
of geese is huddled on the
shore and mirrored on
the pond making two
rows until our presence
causes them to waddle
into the water and swim
away. Our prints in the
pristine snow take me
back to childhood when
my brother and I rushed
to be the first out, laughing
as we lay down in the snow
to make our snow angels.
Today I intentionally halt,
and it’s the silence, the hush,
the utter stillness, the beauty,
the sense of something more
that fills me with gratitude and joy.
Pausing in the woods
to ruminate about
what aromas to sniff
next in this Thanksgiving
bounty whose scents
are hidden in the leaves
and provided by Mother
Nature’s other creatures.
Little mouths munching
away on a fallen tree
whose demise is offering
more light in the forest.
Fungi and other organisms
are helping it decompose,
releasing its nutrients
into the fertile soil.
It will take decades
before it’s nibbled away,
long after I have been
released to the earth.
The crunch of leaves,
the face in the tree trunk,
(Zachary Hand to God?)
the whine of cars on Route 6,
the hum of a plane overhead,
the blazing maple framed
by a vibrant, clear, blue sky,
the bare tree limbs stretching,
the purple beautyberry
against a woody stem, and
the dog and the pond
all create a perfect day.
A small patch of green
in a reflection mostly
of dead leaves and clouds
reminds us that there
will come a time when
change is in the air and
new growth bursts forth.
While people are hungry
and aid has been squashed,
billionaires’ wealth increases.
While some no longer have jobs
a garish addition is added to
the People’s house without
their permission. When citizens’
health care is at stake, politicians
shut down the government.
To survive, we must hold on to
that small patch of green
hope. We must hold on.
(Photo taken by me on a walk around a nearby pond)
Reflections
Sunlight shimmers
on a tranquil pond
that mirrors
changing leaves
while a dog gazes
on the splendor.
untangling the web 