Category: poetry

Time for Freya

This is what I open my eyes to every morning. I never know how long my cat Freya’s been sitting there, staring at me as I sleep, but I know what she wants: she’s been on a no-snacking-at-night diet, and she gets a little eager for breakfast.

This morning, as I was just lying back, waiting for the oomph to drag myself out of bed, I started wondering if Freya is aware of the passage of time, or is it always “now” to her. I could find no clue in her big green eyes, but I think it’s the latter because…

the past is remembered

in the here and now,

and the future is imagined

in the here and now,

but the present is real

in the here and now–

freya may be right:

it has always been now

and it always will be

–photo by me

Young Eagle

There’s a two or three year old juvenile eagle in a tree ahead, giving me the eagle-eye. He’s almost as big as an adult, but he doesn’t have the bald (white) head yet, and his beak is only half yellow.

If I come any closer, he’ll fly away. It’s kinda funny, cuz if he wanted to, he could sink those six-inch talons into my neck and open my skull like a can of beans with his beak.

Eagles are sea birds. They love to have fish over for dinner, and will even transport them to their nests free of charge, but after the lakes freeze over, road-kill tops the menu.

juvenile eagles

always give me a craving

for fudge swirl ice cream

–photo by me

Outside the Lines

It may look like I’m taking this picture while standing in the middle of the river, but that’s because the riverbank of solid igneous rock (which takes up more than half of the shot) just happens to resemble the rushing waters.

I often see this in nature; one thing spills over into another. Perhaps Mother Nature is getting a little careless in her old age.

boundaries get blurred

whenever mother nature

paints outside the lines

–Photo by me

Shot of the Day

Slowly, the massive, battle-scarred buck

Steps out of the woods and into my range.

It’s rutting season now, and his neck is

Grossly swollen with the thick muscles

He’s acquired by rubbing and scraping

His antlers on everything he runs into.

This one is a real scrapper, for sure,

All jacked up on male testosterone

And ready to do battle if necessary.

I line up my sights and take aim.

He hears the click and bounds away,

But it’s already too late–

I got my Shot of the Day.

–Photo by me