
we recovering
alcoholics are never
quite out of the woods–
sure, we can see the light now,
but it only shows more trees
–photo by me

we recovering
alcoholics are never
quite out of the woods–
sure, we can see the light now,
but it only shows more trees
–photo by me

what is it about the rain
that somehow seems
to soothe my pain?
the pitter-patter pelts impart
a certain solace to my heart.
now the plans
that i had made
are temporarily delayed,
but i don’t mind;
i won’t complain–
in fact, it feels
right as rain.
–photo by me

summer fades away
like a worn-out pair of jeans–
patchy memories
–photo by me

the stars would
stay hidden away
if it weren’t
for the night,
for each and every day
we’re blinded by light
–photo by me

As I stand here gazing at the sunrise, I’m reminded of all the years I was only able to catch a glimpse of it on my way to work. Now I’m retired, and I couldn’t be more thankful that I’ll never have to miss another. Nature truly is poetry without words.
retirement is wonderful,
and here’s my favorite perk:
i get to watch the day unfold
instead of going to work
–photo by me

hear ye, hear ye,
denizens of the forest:
i’ve called you all here
on this september day
to announce that now
is the time to make ready
for the oncoming winter.
i’m pleased to tell you that
the other squirrels and i
have finished gathering
the acorns, and are ready
to hibernate very soon.
but many of you won’t
have a place to stay
or even food to eat
in the dreadful cold.
some of you will die.
it’s the way of the woods;
it’s what makes us strong.
yes, some won’t make it,
but for the rest of us:
may we meet again
on the other side for
another glorious summer!
goodnight to you all,
my friends of the forest.
–photo by me

i dreamed of
a flock of geese
flying up from
a burning field.
there was a breeze
from the north,
and the geese
were flying south.
like many dreams,
it seems to have
two meanings:
the first is that
winter is coming.
the second is a far
deeper insight–
but let’s just go
with the first.
–photo/art by me

our politicians
use our singular focus
like skilled magicians
–photo by me

a moose on the border frontier
was watching me as i drew near;
i thought she was rude,
and a staredown ensued–
in truth, i was frozen with fear

–photos by me

i thought i saw
a mummy’s head
hanging from a tree,
but it was just
a hornets nest–
the biggest one i’ve seen.
i’m kind to all
the living things
i find along my walk,
but i don’t know
if these are home–
and i don’t think i’ll knock.
–photo by me