Wonderment

A fantastic journey of delight and surprise at the wonder of nature, the miracle of life

Contents Preface

6

Autumn

Summer A Summer Afternoon The Water Sprite The Beach Enter Night Firefly Night The Midnight Market Bear and the Moonlight The Pond Summer Storm An Invitation

14 18 24 28 32 38 46 50 54 60

Golden Goblin Pumpkin-Picking Day Cats in the Graveyard Innocence on the Demon Path The Haunted House Moon in the Reeds Omens The Milkweed Pod Lovers Bits of Joy The Last Roses of Summer

Spring

Winter 72 76 80 86 90 96 102 106 112 118

Rapunzel The Birch Trees and the Fox Winter Morning A Christmas Tree for Father Winter I Do Love You, Winter Beautiful Nightmare Fear of Flying Winter Departure January Blues Last Days of Winter

128 132 138 142 148 154 160 164 170 174

Transition A Double Ring Around the Moon The Forest’s Edge Skunk Cabbage Sprinkle, Sprinkle Flowers What Has Hatched Here?

Blue Heron Dandelion Days The Full Spring Field My Passing

186 190 194 198 204 210 214 220 226 230

Acknowledgments About the Author

234 236

Contents Preface

6

Autumn

Summer A Summer Afternoon The Water Sprite The Beach Enter Night Firefly Night The Midnight Market Bear and the Moonlight The Pond Summer Storm An Invitation

14 18 24 28 32 38 46 50 54 60

Golden Goblin Pumpkin-Picking Day Cats in the Graveyard Innocence on the Demon Path The Haunted House Moon in the Reeds Omens The Milkweed Pod Lovers Bits of Joy The Last Roses of Summer

Spring

Winter 72 76 80 86 90 96 102 106 112 118

Rapunzel The Birch Trees and the Fox Winter Morning A Christmas Tree for Father Winter I Do Love You, Winter Beautiful Nightmare Fear of Flying Winter Departure January Blues Last Days of Winter

128 132 138 142 148 154 160 164 170 174

Transition A Double Ring Around the Moon The Forest’s Edge Skunk Cabbage Sprinkle, Sprinkle Flowers What Has Hatched Here?

Blue Heron Dandelion Days The Full Spring Field My Passing

186 190 194 198 204 210 214 220 226 230

Acknowledgments About the Author

234 236

Enter Night drops quickly. n ight The trees go jet black,

bold charcoal silhouettes cutting downward across the landscape.

Twilight blue light vibrates between the vertical trunks and through the heavy branches of summer, the leaves deep smudges, full thick taps of oil paint, patted on the trees’ tips.

Then, SLAM, full dark.

All is deep velvet and quiet, bushes and underbrush merge, forming strange shapes.

Not a single insect makes a sound.

Night becomes an entity— a being. We observe each other for a single inhalation and exhalation, maybe two.

A few stars make their entrance, pulse between leaves, move imperceptibly against the ancient sky.

28

Enter Night drops quickly. n ight The trees go jet black,

bold charcoal silhouettes cutting downward across the landscape.

Twilight blue light vibrates between the vertical trunks and through the heavy branches of summer, the leaves deep smudges, full thick taps of oil paint, patted on the trees’ tips.

Then, SLAM, full dark.

All is deep velvet and quiet, bushes and underbrush merge, forming strange shapes.

Not a single insect makes a sound.

Night becomes an entity— a being. We observe each other for a single inhalation and exhalation, maybe two.

A few stars make their entrance, pulse between leaves, move imperceptibly against the ancient sky.

28

Golden Goblin

T

he “Golden Goblin” pampas grass masses in mounds that bring to mind the piles of straw in “Rumpelstiltskin.”

And “Silver Feather” maiden grass winks in the sunlight, tawny and mystical, bestowing enchantment.

Crowds of weary black-eyed Susans stare, a thousand blinking eyes from out their withered ruffs. And lemon-colored coleus rise as big as bushes.

Pears ripen and fall rotten to the ground. Breathe deeply and smell the mix, the fruit and flowers climaxing all about. Breathe again and find the hidden scent of summer decay.

The breeze stirs the atmosphere; it’s been so quiet.

Something trembles within the stems and aging leaves, ancient and as old as myth, and lets me spy it for an instant.

72

Golden Goblin

T

he “Golden Goblin” pampas grass masses in mounds that bring to mind the piles of straw in “Rumpelstiltskin.”

And “Silver Feather” maiden grass winks in the sunlight, tawny and mystical, bestowing enchantment.

Crowds of weary black-eyed Susans stare, a thousand blinking eyes from out their withered ruffs. And lemon-colored coleus rise as big as bushes.

Pears ripen and fall rotten to the ground. Breathe deeply and smell the mix, the fruit and flowers climaxing all about. Breathe again and find the hidden scent of summer decay.

The breeze stirs the atmosphere; it’s been so quiet.

Something trembles within the stems and aging leaves, ancient and as old as myth, and lets me spy it for an instant.

72

The Mikweed Pod Lovers FOR GEORGE MACDONALD

T

hey met when the pods were new, tender and ready to eat, foraging at the edge of the woods.

She had been there earlier, when the shoots and leaves were young and sweet.

Her family considered them a delicacy, a tasty treat.

Now the stalks were strong and tall, and she felt as diminutive as Alice grown too small.

She stepped into the milkweed forest, grown so high, and heard a rustle as the upper pods swayed against the sky.

He was on a ladder of twigs and maybe two years older, his back to her, reaching up, a sack slung over his shoulder. (poem continues . . . )

106

The Mikweed Pod Lovers FOR GEORGE MACDONALD

T

hey met when the pods were new, tender and ready to eat, foraging at the edge of the woods.

She had been there earlier, when the shoots and leaves were young and sweet.

Her family considered them a delicacy, a tasty treat.

Now the stalks were strong and tall, and she felt as diminutive as Alice grown too small.

She stepped into the milkweed forest, grown so high, and heard a rustle as the upper pods swayed against the sky.

He was on a ladder of twigs and maybe two years older, his back to her, reaching up, a sack slung over his shoulder. (poem continues . . . )

106

January Blues IN HONOR OF T.S. ELIOT

j holiday happiness and heartache packed anuary is the bleakest month,

away with tree and trims, all Christmases now blurred again as one.

The bulbs and seeds planted in the autumn sleep deeply under the hardened earth and a continual grayness marks each day.

A ghost slides up and down the leafless silver birch outside my window.

The day is short and she starts her vigil during our early dinner.

It’s twilight when I throw out crumbs from the breadbasket and watch the birds taunt her, catching my gifts as they tear through her porous flesh, turning her presence into wet, cold fog.

She re-emerges with a weary slowness and starts her sliding, this time top to bottom, looking at me woefully, like a forgotten friend in pain.

Is she too waiting for the sun?

No, she is hopeless, ignorant and caught in a circular trap, probably of her own making. But that is cruel.

This Promethean ritual may be totally out of her control; much like the malaise of the month of January which will only be dissolved with the spring equinox and April’s ache of birth.

170

January Blues IN HONOR OF T.S. ELIOT

j holiday happiness and heartache packed anuary is the bleakest month,

away with tree and trims, all Christmases now blurred again as one.

The bulbs and seeds planted in the autumn sleep deeply under the hardened earth and a continual grayness marks each day.

A ghost slides up and down the leafless silver birch outside my window.

The day is short and she starts her vigil during our early dinner.

It’s twilight when I throw out crumbs from the breadbasket and watch the birds taunt her, catching my gifts as they tear through her porous flesh, turning her presence into wet, cold fog.

She re-emerges with a weary slowness and starts her sliding, this time top to bottom, looking at me woefully, like a forgotten friend in pain.

Is she too waiting for the sun?

No, she is hopeless, ignorant and caught in a circular trap, probably of her own making. But that is cruel.

This Promethean ritual may be totally out of her control; much like the malaise of the month of January which will only be dissolved with the spring equinox and April’s ache of birth.

170

ISBN: 978-1-78884-364-5

54000 9 781788 843645 www.accartbooks.com

£30.00/$40.00