Mountain Top Missing: Nature Series

We climbed the mountain
With the help of a V6 since
Debilitating age won’t
Let us walk.

We took a road that switched
One way then another
In seemingly endless
Tight fitting esses.

Then down we rode
Into a gray canyon and saw
The mountain top had
Gone missing.

Stepping out into silence
We turned a slow circle
Marveling at sheer rock cliffs
On three sides.

A history is written in those
Cliffs etched by generations
Of miners taking layer upon layer
Of that living mountain.

Ages of rock were peeled
Off and ground into stony waste
And garnet crystal to feed an
Industrial need.

As our gaze slides down the vertical
Scene it stops to see new trees on
Narrow ledges then further down
Two ponds glimmer.

This canyon floor is littered with
The chaff of mineral harvesting
But ponds deep and pure are
Reclaiming the land.

A summer’s growth takes the path
Towards autumn and flowers bloom
Still in rocky shadows where birds
Sing echoing hallelujahs.

Fish and frogs jump and ripple
The surface of what is now a new
Mountain top as it evolves shrugging
Off the marks of men.

Fading Light: Nature Series

She was looking in
Through the sliding glass door
That overlooks the river.

A small doe standing
In the yard bathed
In the fading light
Of a Fall day.

Curious. Wary posture.
Looking at us in our
Rocking chairs as
We drank a beer
And looked back.

Her deer logic worked
In its wild way
She reckoned us a
Threat and tensed
Her whole body coiled.

She made a half
Pirouette on pointed
Hooves, muscles bunched
In her back legs and she
Exploded, springing
Away into the trees.

She left only the fading
Light and an indelible
Memory.

Turkey Trot: Nature Series

It was a little after
Sunrise when the
Wild turkeys came
Strutting into the
Front yard
Two big birds overseeing
Five youngsters.

Pecking industriously at
Whatever it is they
Eat, all business
Building up their
Reserves for those cold
Winter days soon
To come.

Subtle colors all
Brown and gray
With hints of blue.
Can birds be proud?
They seemed so
Doing their work
Imperiously moving in
Solemn procession along
The road’s edge.

I went out the door to
Cheer their parade but
They raced away in a
Feathery flash.

Usual Things

Today the sun came up in the usual way
As the world lightened
Everything around seemed about the same
Carefully nature’s common events
Came to pass
Breezes blew their soft fingers
Against sheer curtains
Clouds made their airy journey
Across early autumn skies
Birds began their melodic work
Using the same refrains learned
Over centuries
Grass continued growing and fall flowers
Cast up their familiar blooms
All the creatures of this realm performed the
Necessary tasks of their existence

You didn’t need to continue to love me
And yet you did.

Night Came Creeping

Night came creeping into the woods
So I took my chair out on the dirt lane
To watch.

Enough wine had made the mosquitoes
No problem at all and the azure sky promised a
Good show.

The forest was first to be smothered with
Shadows as sunlight fell away behind the hill
Fading quickly.

Then the forest pushed its evening shroud into
My clearing, covering me as I looked on with
Rapt attention.

From East to West the darkness deepened
Until I saw only the shape of the woods not
The substance.

My little cabin was unlit behind me, the river
Murmured softly in the ravine below, the water
Late summer low.

But then, rising above the shoulder of the valley
Crest came the Moon full and platinum bright starting
Its night time journey.

And the stars, brightest at my back, turned on
Their diamond points and littered the blackness with
Dazzling brilliance.

No city lights in this place to dim to dullness Nature’s silent
Show, a dark and lustrous duo, as it plays to an audience
Of one.

I own this night. It is my woods. It is my Earth and sky.
But you my love, far away, can have all that I own if you will
Only join me here.

ABANDONED HOUSES, ABANDONED LIVES

Standing empty, no longer proud
An old two storey farm house is up at the end
Of an overgrown lane. Tall maples being eclipsed
By wild brush and vines once stood sentry along
That old lane. The house is leaning, clapboard siding
Once white and fresh now weathered gray like a cold
North Country day. The roof is bowed the porch floor full of
Open places. Empty windows look out on empty
Fields. Inside the house is littered sparsely with broken
Furniture, things once treasured by a family long ago
Departed.

A cemetery on a hill, twin to the hill with the house,
Tells part of the story. Names and dates, dates lasting nearly a
Century. Children’s names and old people and two who died
In war. Men and women, boys and girls who worked that
Land who laughed in the rooms of this empty, no longer
Proud house. A family through generations, first growing
Then fading away and leaving. The last who lived
Here must have grown weary of the struggle to bring prosperity
To the home, lost their will and could convince no
Others to carry on. No sale made, no taxes paid.
Now just an empty place no longer proud.

The house now abandoned once held hope and love, lives lived
Tending the land and the animals. Lessons and learning,
Work and play, sowing and harvesting all had their times,
Their seasons. There was a rhythm to their lives that is no
Longer felt in the house or on the land. Were those last souls
Who are not resting on the nearby hill, but who lived and
Worked here for a time the people who abandoned their
Lives and this place? Or did they just decide to stop the
Struggle and the fading it caused? New lives elsewhere, a
Springtime in a different place. Was it a gradual thing the
Leaving, a slow abandonment or sudden?

The house holds few clues, the cemetery stones tell only
Abridged stories. But we see the ending, a house empty
No longer proud.

STANDISH ROAD

Almost falling down, the home that was my
Great-grandparents. A big wing on each end of
A center section that once housed a store
And post office. Grandpa would give us a
Nickel and send us up the street to get
Some candy. My Great-grandmother, old
And ailing but glad to see us. My Grandma’s
Sister sorting mail talking and laughing.
A phone would ring, but not their ring,
Someone else on the party line. They knew
Them all and sometimes would pick up the
Phone and listen quietly, then interrupt.
And laugh and gossip. On a warm day
All the doors and windows would be open.
Curtains flapping in the constant breeze.
Comings and goings.
Living and dying.
They did die of course, over the years.
Then so did the town. And it wasn’t so long that
No one in the family wanted the old, run down
House. Year after year it sat decaying and
Dying. It’s still there. Given up for taxes with
Signs tacked up and yellow rope around because
Of the danger. The center collapses more with every
Hard winter storm, and there are many there on
The back side of the mountain.
The sides lean in and soon it will all collapse
Upon itself. I remember it freshly painted and
Clean, clean, clean.
My Great-grandparent’s abandoned house.