poetry

past peak

goldtrail

Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park, Michigan

They told us, “Colors will be past peak,
you should have come last week.” No room
last week was busy
and it rained.

This week we packed
flannel-lined jeans and base layers,
hiking boots, a few t-shirts,
our heavy winter coats. After all
it is the UP
it could snow.

Gus kept an eye on us loading up the car.
In went his bag filled with bowls, treats
and food for a week. He was quick
to jump in the back seat

and out
when we arrived. Water!
A black lab streak to the big lake.
He shook sand free
beneath the unseasonably
warm sun.

We took short hikes on park trails, carefully
placing each footfall
between
roots and rocks, balancing
between
yesterday and tomorrow.

Like gold doubloons
wind-blown leaves buried
the forest floor. It was true. Colors
a bit past peak. Not unlike
ourselves.

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sweet woods

A path of oak leaves leads through a thick green forest.

 

 

late August and the sweet, deep woods dripped

shades of green, speckled orange

mushrooms pushed through rain-soaked oak leaves

overnight

and grew shawls of white mould

 

 

 

I wanted the sweetness to be sweet

grass waving in the northern field

I wanted the humidity to be curling

smoke waved overhead

at a native prayer ceremony

 

instead, leaves already lying

on the forest floor, all I could smell

was the fading perfume of funeral

flowers

 

A small white moth is lying on its back on a brown leaf, it's legs folded inward above it's body.

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the gleaming

An early morning shot in a summer, green forest. In the left foreground is a spider web haning from a low branch in the shape of an upside down parachute. In the background out of focus are a few more similar webs. There are ferns and the trunks of trees, all is green with the morning sun shining at the camera.

morning mist reveals

basket spider parachutes

stealthy invasion

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drama in a ditch

swallow tail alights

goldenrod deceiver waits

death on a daisy

a close up shot of a white daisy with a yellow center, an Eastern Swallowtail butterfly is hanging upside down from it on the left side, a large white goldenrod crab spider is holding it and sucking on it, out-of-focus daisies are in the background

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Time passes

in spring

 

the sun rises relentlessly northward

degree by degree,

like a battalion marching to the front

and daylight lengthens by 13 minutes in a week

 

this year

record temps teased summer for eight days in mid-March,

and coaxed crocuses

to push toward the light, not understanding

the danger, like infantry brainwashed

to react and not to think

 

on this day last year

buds bunkered down

below the snow

and we glided above on long boards, glad

for the cease-fire

before the spring-riot growth,

sweating only from exertion

 

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