Archive
09/25/11 - (2)
Wisdoms
Sitting at the kitchen table, Listening to church bells setting the stillness astir, I spy a boat gliding fifty yards farther out than dock's end, Watch it meander easterly, on the lake's lazy current, Inch in the direction of the closed-for-the-season boys' camp, Both of its passengers casting toward where, last midnight, I sat fishing for stars.
Suddenly, my left eye Senses a presence entering its peripheral vision. I turn toward the deck, connecting my cabin with the shore, Just in time to see a foraging gray squirrel Bound, from the pathetic effigy of the white-pine tree That exists only as five stubs and a lopped-off trunk, Onto the top of the railing running the length of the deck,
Until it's crouched on all fours, Bushy question mark of a tail twitching, twitching, As it stares at me staring at it, through the door's window, Both of us waiting for the other to make the next gesture. With a thrust, it turns, retraces the rail, to the tree, Leaps across all fifteen feet of abbreviated stem, And searches the stunted limbs, for a pine cone to peel.
Then, in a scurrying, nervous flash, This harvesting squirrel abandons me to my Sunday meditations, Leaves me musing on the truth That it won't be burying any cones in my yard's sandy soil, Any seeds to give this coniferous specter a new existence. When I gaze at the lake again, it's flickering with water spirits Whispering eternity's wisdoms to the tree.
09/25/11 - (2)
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