Tag Archives: seasons

One shot

     

Fraternity now, and football

At the end of the rut, the bucks grow weary, great heads bowed beneath battle-worn racks, here and there a desultory joust, a soft grunt cast in diminishing wind toward indifferent does. What was it all about? Majesty tattered, they plod and limp, half-dazed as if emerging from a potent spell, speak to former rivals […]

Meteorology

I You and your hollow promises. Eager as a child on Christmas, I awaken early, craving the snow you forecast. Ninety percent chance, you said. Two to three inches. Liar. Decades of deceit; countless disappointments. Why do I still trust you? You’re no better than Lucy, promising that this time, this time, you will hold […]

Cabbage white in autumn

Today we induct into the Hall of Heroes a cabbage white, its wingspan little wider than a half-dollar, an artifact you may or may not remember:  cool in the palm, serrated edges, the sharply embossed portrait of a young president whose life would likewise be truncated by the weather of the world. (On the coin, he still […]

For the bear who broke my fence

As you ready, you trouble our leavings: the forgotten feeder, the spilled seed. Your hunger accretes in the dark autumn air. Urgent. Insatiable. Hyperphagia, the scientists say. You say eat. You say drink. As you ready, you dream cubs from the world of spirit, from the world of ancestors. You dream their tiny bodies blind […]

How not to complain

Too tired to ripen, late tomatoes hang obdurately green from withered vines,  their yellowing lattice home, now, to an orb-weaver, Araneus gemmoides,  whose tiny cat face, etched on her ballooning abdomen, blesses me when I kneel to consider each sacrifice on the gossamer altar: What’s required to live, and what, to die; whether it’s the […]

Nearly enough

I like the sound of my phone not ringing, the stillness of my door unknocked. I like the invitations I do not receive, the peaceful hollow of my empty mailbox. Unsolicited for any response, I offer none. Now, I have nearly enough time. The hummingbird feeder needs sugar water; the nuthatches, more seed. If not […]

For the bear who broke my fence

As you ready, you trouble our leavings: the forgotten feeder, the spilled seed. Your hunger accretes in the dark autumn air. Urgent. Insatiable. Hyperphagia, the scientists say. You say eat. You say drink. As you ready, you dream cubs from the world of spirit, from the world of ancestors. You dream their tiny bodies blind […]

The young farmer’s widow considers the harvest

You say nothing and what could you, what words can tongue the abruptly absent body? You will long for shock once it dissipates, but now this fearful frenzy, all that must be done when nothing can be done: the obit, the funeral, receiving the food, the cards. Helplessness weights the air like humidity in storm-bruised […]

Late spring snow

Today I felt the sky commend the grass, how it took the snow that burdened each blossomed branch, pulled the water through its thin throat, drank and grew, greened and gladdened, stood and straightened its slender hands upward. Today I felt the grass commend the sky, loving the storm as much as the sun. And […]