This morning I looked out of the window just in time to see a dive bombing blue jay. The sight impressed me greatly. The way he dropped from a high tree branch, streaking like a small comet or a superhero. Swooping upward only at the very last possible second. Because he did not appear to have one, I gave him a name. I called him: Reckless Abandon. It suits him well. This daring, winged creature. I believe he is destined to be famous in my world. For he showed me how flying can look alarmingly like falling. He showed me too, how too full of reck I am. How reluctant to abandon anything. Why? he demanded to know. This blue strident bird. I had no answer. But one day, old, time-wizened, happy, I will look out the window. Ready to leave my perch. I will remember the flight of Reckless Abandon. And how it changed everything
Category Archives: Naturesque
Behold the pea plant. How it grows! Tossing tendrils in the air
like slender hands, as if the ground were an ocean, and it,
in danger of drowning. An unreasonable pea-green longing
for lifeline; a lattice, a lamp post, a little wire. What it touches
it spools tightly as thread. True to that valiant motto of pea plants
everywhere: Never Let Go. Such fierceness in one who begins life
so floppy and frail is admirable, also instructive, for those among us
built like the pea plant. Drowning in daily trifles and forgetfulness,
casting our tendrils into the blue unknown, and looking for truth
like a trellis.
Only the arrogant say they do not have time.
Look out the window now and consider this:
You’ve stared at an expressionless screen
And played an unmusical keyboard all day
While the leaves, the leaves on the old oak
Have been feasting on sunlight, yes, chomping
With great relish, and pausing occasionally to
Sip a bit of water from the great tumbler of earth.
Only the ungrateful refuse food at a banquet,
And those fasting in remembrance (Which are you?)
The wise leaves know to eat, drink, and be merry.
Wordless they bless the life around them, while
You my friend, are just so busy being busy.
The poetry of the Geminids is cobbled together from celestial cast-offs. Cosmic rubble inscribes the night sky for insomniacs, wish-makers and lovers of mystery with upturned moonflower faces. Brilliant lines flash and fade, elusive as dreams, leaving you tingling and wordless in their wake. Housed in a universe whose dustflecks blaze forth with untellable beauty, what fierce incandescence then, might your life, on this blue whirling dervish of a planet, be capable of?
The poetry of pumpkins blazes forth on front stoops just as summer ‘s heels vanish around the corner trailing vines and gray clouds like scarves. Plump and pedigreed descendants of the charmed stagecoach that once-upon-a-time delivered a fairytale princess and her fragile footwear into destiny’s arms. Now relegated to the role of Autumn’s doorman. Beguiling tiger cubs standing guard on porch steps. Unapologetically orange and somehow comforting as a campfire. Interrupting fog’s blanket statement with radiant memories of the sun. Tossing joy like hot potatoes into the pockets of passersby whose fingers will curl around it. And whose hearts will begin to glow. Jack-o-lantern fashion. From the inside out.
The poetry of a croissant moon dipped in an espresso sky dusted with powdered sugar stars will enter the bloodstream directly, and begin to sing. Operatically. A pick-me-up to be slow-sipped at your own peril. Imbibe, and you risk lying awake all night. Buzzing with the beauty of the universe. Do not say you were not warned.
The poetry of waking up to rain is more elaborate than any alarm clock. Up on the rooftop raindrop paws. An ashen sky is wrapped in gauze. Strong fingers wearing diamond rings drum your windowpane. Voice of dawn sings soft and low and shakes a silver mane. This day is lovely, dark and deep, theatrically it feigns to weep. To reel you in with charms of seep, to steal you from the arms of sleep.