Today I took a walk with sister-friend and fellow poet Kay Middleton. We walked further together than I would have walked alone, and I’m grateful for the extra miles. We sat on the beach a while, before leaving, where it was very windy and very sunny. Now I have sand in my pockets and twigs in my hair and a hint of sunburn–a happy trio of souvenirs.
A few nights ago, twilight brought a moment of crystalline clarity. The yard turned a warm, monochrome blue. Today, an odd midday fog washed everything blue again, but it was a cheerless, grainy blue. Dandelions folded, tree limbs drooped, and the only creatures that stirred were a pair of restless seagulls over a nearby pond. Both scenes reflected my mood, eerily accurate manifestations of changing emotional weather. How’s the weather, where you are?
It’s definitely that time of year. Today’s walk in the park was all birds and bees. (Mostly birds, and most of the birds were osprey.)
Summer seems within reach, so I can’t resist a selection from the summer archives.
Cicadas
Their last earthbound form clings
hollow gargoyle relic of claw and eye
split with surgical precision to release
the winged adult.
If I held one of these amber
husks to my ear, would a dusty
song of waning summer pulse
like the tide in a scrolled shell?
The day was remarkably warm, and I couldn’t resist a walk in the park. Neither could anyone else, it seemed, because the parking lot and trails bustled with walkers, joggers, and bicyclists. Needless to say, most of the park’s wild residents were in hiding. Even so, this downy woodpecker lingered near the road, and an egret paused at my camera’s most distant limit.
Near the end of my walk, I stumbled into a herd of mourning cloak butterflies.
And finally, just before I reached my car, I noticed a commotion across the road. A large, mixed flock of warblers, chickadees, and other small birds flitted through the underbrush, staying long enough for me to catch a single frame of bluebird.
After they moved on, I hesitated, as I always do when it’s time to leave. My reluctance was rewarded when a pileated woodpecker flashed by and lit just a few yards away. She and I spent a few curious moments sizing each other up, then she went ahead with her foraging as I fumbled with my camera.
And now I’m home again, relaxing in my office. The dog is asleep at my feet, her arthritic legs and gray muzzle twitching as she dreams mysterious dog dreams. The cats are sprawled in splashes of sun, whiskers ruffled by a cool breeze that promises I will have to close the windows soon.
Soon, but not just yet…
Rae Spencer 