nostalgic smell of pine
cool summer breezes caress hands stretched
out the car window
grabbing a leaf or a twig
driving down the long scarcely driven
dusty dirty road tall grasses and weeds
brushing the belly of the beast
past the raspberry meadow
through the northern Minnesota wood
hoping to catch a glimpse
of some large wild inhabitant
from the safety of the machine
excitement fomenting disrobing
nearing the end of the old road
droning motor ceasing
civilization escaping
with wild abandonment
running down the hill
through the wood
careful not to slip
on ancient granite boulders
decorating the trail
racing not wanting to be the last one
to plunge
under the chilly crystal clear water
Burntside Lake nirvana

Nothing reveals the decade you are passing through
when you enter the old wooden passageway into the Cabin
adventure beckons from another time
you feel privileged to savor every moment
cause you know it won’t last
you stop to drink in every sensation
the feel the smell the picture you don’t want to forget
antique black telephone with handle
pretending you could wind it up and call 1938
to say come on up mom and pop
gather with us in front of the stone fireplace
whose fires lovingly built by mom
warmed the blue shivering wet lips
of dad and brothers and me after hours swimming
in waters too cold to swim hours in
sit in the old oak chairs
and reminisce about how many fish there used to be
small mouth large mouth and rock bass
swimming round the weathered dock
walleyed pike putting up a fight from the old row boat
or let’s laugh while we play Racko again
at the table on the porch by the light of the kerosene lamp
come join us to sleep in the darkest still night
sound of water gently lapping the sandy shore
occasionally overshadowed by the lonesome call of a loon
off the grid though that would not have been understood
back then in the cold summer nights at the Cabin

a curtain of raining snowflakes
accentuates the feeling
of wandering in a glass domed
fantasy world of her creation
a magical spirit-full place
lost in time and space
hardly any need to breathe
sound of a clock tick tocking
lulling the world to sleep
is this real or merely an illusion
peaceful restful haven
the kingdom of Karen's imagination

horrified I stared
rooted to the earth
my delicate shielded
virgin vision
too long protected
from this daily spectacle
this most common of occurrences
this view of the hollowed out
stunted trunk of a dead tree
dotted with holes
of squirrel holding onto
the inside of the trunk
as if life depended on it
and it did
hawk holding on too
the tail in its beak
wings flapping steadying
a deadly tug of war
back and forth
back and forth
as the drama unfolded
minutes for me
an eternity I assume
for the gray squirrel
my horror turned into
morbid curiosity
who would win
the squirrel would not be
the meal of the day
somehow it got away but
the hawk waited
too many holes in that trunk
it lunged and grabbed
another piece
of that poor squirrel
who now seemed spent
and did not struggle much
then it was over
hawk calmly on the ground
eating like you and I do
every day

in days of old I'm told
when folks still listened
to the natural world
when they took their time
to walk in old woods
quietly seeking

sensitive souls suggest
nature has not deserted us yet
one can coax her to grant
wisdom if we can hear
and walk quietly
so I went with open eyes
and listening ears
to my favorite wood
heard my heart
a wise barred owl
and understood
graced me with Presence
most every day
til I moved far away
from Radnor woods

old dusty paths
in the Andes Mountains
enveloping Elqui Valley
off the grid
solitary
stillness overwhelming
the silence is deafening

you never know with the moon, you know
unless you watch several days in a row
is it rising or is it descending
is it waxing or is it waning
does it care if we know
and what about the tides
are they coming in or
are they going out
and your love?

short-lived and bothersome
with your annoying buzzing
considered unsanitary
though you inspired
some inventions
the fly swatter
and sticky paper
yesterday you took on
a whole new significance
you alighted on my hand when
I in a responsive state
began to communicate
you responded
you crawled onto my finger
when I asked you to
you twirled around
hopped from fingertip
to fingertip
your patience with me
was inspiring
waiting for me to get it
to see myself in you