It oft begins this way, I watch and wait, As gathering of gray, beyond the blue and wispy cirrus clumps, rise to the great sky-vastness, like a boiling, roiling brew.
Her hull now bobbing gently, but too soon she’ll rock and rise and clank, her tether tight, In moments, azure scene becomes undone, The dark rolls in erasing island light.
Now in port, safe harbor for the night As daily tempest brews again, I’m calm, Secure that ebb and flow is somehow right And soon the breeze again will waft and balm.
When blue skies yield to gray-storms all a-rage, Inhale, exhale, Mother Earth’s assuaged.
*****
This photograph was taken from a moving vehicle through a dirty window, using my iPhone. While the quality of the photograph isn’t great, the composition and the compelling subject/scene makes it a worthy contribution for my entry this week in the Photo Friday Challenge.
This morn, I spied a rapturous, red-tailed hawk, She spied me back, inviting me to gawk, Instinctive, sensing I was party to her play, Of stalking stealth, and seizing rodent prey.
As fresh-fall snow lay soft and fluffy white, Full-cloaked the yard, clear backdrop for her flight, Where ‘Lady Red-tail’ snatched her careless catch, As I stood witness to the scene unmatched.
Withdrawing, then, to frozen dogwood lean, She preened and seemed to comb her plumage clean, Sudden stopping, stared into my room, Peering through my sunlight-filter zoom.
I dared not move lest pierce this freeze-framed time, And I’d be robbed of nature’s scene sublime, We shared this moment, wild and winged she, And ordinary human, awestruck me.
I stared, enraptured by the raptor’s reach, Regal, broad-span wings; she swooped and soared, then breached through icy branch to unseen, thermal streams, Taking flight, with “keeeer” her triumph scream.
**********
If it’s Monday, it must be snowing in New Jersey!
Though traffic reports warned of black-iced roadways and slick walks, I stopped by my bedroom window, to gaze out onto my yard. A clean, fresh blanket of snow-covered the expanse, and despite wind-tossed feeders and frozen bird-baths, I had to smile at the beauty of this morning. It was truly peaceful and serene, as the falling snow erased the icy masses and footprint roadmaps that had been etched on the landscape. It was lovely.
Suddenly the pure white vista was interrupted by a massive, impressive, winged creature wrestling something on the ground. It was too far away for me to see and too late to help the careless rodent caught in the talons of this beauty, but I was mesmerized by the scene unfolding before my eyes. As the snowflakes became larger (a sure sign that soon the precipitation would stop), the hawk, finished her snack and took perch on a snow-covered branch of the dormant dogwood. She rested there just long enough for me to grab my camera and start shooting.
Through my zoom lens I identified her as a red-tailed hawk. I almost felt guilt as I watched her complete her ritual raking and cleaning of her plumage, until she seemed to stop and stare back at me. It was as if she instinctively knew she was being watched. I knew that she knew I was there – watching. We locked eyes through my camera lens!
In a moment, the fleeting moment of our communion passed and she abandoned her perch; soaring low out over the expanse of glistening snow-scape, swooping gracefully. At first she dipped low, close to the surface of the snow, then rose in a steep arc, ascending skyward, before she slipped from my sight.
As I write this piece, with the afternoon sun shining through the window of my office, a shadow sweeps across my face. I know it is she, searching for another thermal to ride in her quest for sustenance.
Hence, the inspiration for my poem and the attached photographs.
Tip-tapping bamboo sticks repeat motif, Defining complex interweaves of threads Knit red, two white, then three, again repeat In hope it soon will warmly top her bed.
A double-knitted pattern turns my head, Though twice the time and focus it demands, For working two at once, together wed without a seam, and made by loving hand.
Kelmscott throw defines its country land, Where winters hard are blustery, forlorn, Requiring afghan covers plain but grand, Spun lovingly from farmbred sheepskins shorn.
Two perfect sides, a yin and yang in one, My daughters birthday gift will soon be done!
This photo show both sides of the throw that I knitted for my daughter. Knitting is wonderful form of expression. Double knitting, though challenging, is immensely gratifying, and the finished product truly is twice as warm, thick and cozy. The simplicity and perfect symmetry of a single, knitted stitch is replicated a thousand-fold in the finished, lovingly-made, complex-patterned blanket.
Wafting, breezes brush across my sun-drenched face, Tresses tossed by humid,salty air, In awe, breath shallow, helpless in my orbit, I watch, as watery depths seem to swallow whole His brilliant light, and cast these glistening golden sands to inky darkness; distant shores replay, and play again the steady rising and descent; life-force sustaining, Incredible, incomparable, inexorable, Mere mortals bearing silent witness, We are but passing whispers Echoing through Time.
‘Twas years ago (or was just a day), We’re racing ‘down the shore’ to rescue her, from demons overtaking weakened state, We spread our supplications, pray they’re heard.
Her road had been rocky and absurd, Since Dad was taken to eternal rest, In downward spiral, cloaked in clouds of gray, She’d mis-spend measured moons in patron-quest.
He wasn’t love of life, but could arrest the sinking of her ticking, time-worn soul, When this host passed, she slipped to the abyss, We broke her fall, and she regained control.
Humility reminds, life’s joys and trials, A decade hence, rememb’ring tears and smiles.
This was taken overlooking Hanalei Bay, Kauai. Rainbows are commonplace here, but we never grew tired of spotting one (and of course, taking a picture). These islands are truly “Paradise”.
The snow lies lovely, sterling bright and white, A broad-spread blanket, crystalline and smooth, For days confined, snowed-in near cabin’s hearth, While gazing out at moonlit silken glaze, As crackling fires loll this drowsy night And turned-down quilts bid welcome winter’s sleep.
The January sun completes our plan, A torch announcing dawning of the day, We venture out, UGH-footed, mittened hands, To make a man of snow on vista grand, But soon, we stand near frozen at the sight,
Of serpentining footprints ‘cross our land.
What creatures great or small have passed this way O’er-night, while eyelids heavy slept in peace? Some chipmunks, white-tailed rabbits often play, But whence these patterned hoove-prints everywhere? A buck perhaps, or ravaging raccoon, Oppossum, muskrat or a wandering bear!
Precisioned parallels meander round the feeders, hung for buntings, chickadees, The routes encircle wide the soft white ground, ‘Cross shadows losing length ‘neath snow-draped trees, We ponder still what life forms trespassed here, As we intrude on Mother Nature’s scene.
❄️❄️❄️
Strange patterns of eerily precise tracks greeted me after the snowstorm. Despite my research I’ve been unable to verify their origin. But I saw in them a calming simplicity of purpose and logical clarity. I wondered how long these night visitors stayed and where did they go when they left. I wondered too if they visit every night but remain undetected when snow isn’t capturing their tracks. I’m sad to see the inevitable melting away of the accumulated snow, taking with it my ability to follow these wondrous creatures. After all, we are encroaching on their turf, so how can we take offense at their nocturnal ventures for sustenance.
Footprints, January 2015
We are blessed that these creatures still co-exist among us!
Preparing for the concert, mind is filled, My spirit chimes with measures, harmonies, An un-trite, polyphonic mesh, but still My aim: maybe to learn these melodies.
To ease my pre-show nerves and soothe my knees, Bubbles, soft and warm, pile high and light, In scorching tub, a sign ‘mid clouds of steam, While taking in the treetops, snowy white.
Soapy spheres and icy window sights, Miles of crystals shift and drift o’er land, Palette for sonorous dreams a-flight, God’s wonders spell perfection, plain and grand.
Music; simple staffs of words and notes, Are molded into etudes grandiose.
***
Entertaining a passing thought, as I soaked in a hot, soapy tub, attempting to relax while prepping for an upcoming choral concert, I was struck by the contrast between the bubbles and steam inside my bathroom, and the cold (but icily beautiful), snow-covered trees on the other side of my window. Bubbles, steam, bath water, snow crystals, rain, and icicles are made of the same basic molecule, H2O.
Music is perhaps similar in that there are but a few basics components; an octave of tones, a set of basic, rhythmic underpinnings. Yet, composers through the ages have created multitudes of infinitely diverse masterworks.
Profound? Maybe not, but this week’s Wordle #196 gave me the ammunition I needed to pen a sonnet on the subject.
Last November we traveled to Puerto Rico, en route to St. Thomas in support of the Seton Hall Pirates, for the Paradise Jam, a pre-season college basketball tournament. While in Puerto Rico, we visited the town of Caguas, and toured several museums. The Museo de Artes Populares de Caguas, displayed many different types of art and crafts from the Puerto Rican and Caguas artisans, including wood carved Santos, Mundilla lace, Vejiegate masks and costumes, ceramic mobiles, and carved recreations of Caguas country life.
I took this photograph, while mesmerized by the unique way in which an artist expresses his or her self. Regrettably, I don’t know the history of this piece or the name of the artist, or its intended significance to the culture of people in the Caguas area.
I see pain, struggle, defiance and survival; and an exquisite expression of the diversity that is the history of the inhabitants of Puerto Rico, and Caguas; with tentacled roots springing forth from the world, indeed from the earth; and taking hold and gathering into a civilization of diversity, strength and longevity.
Opal Reflections 