sunshine after gray rain

sunshine this morning after gray

days of sudden, intense showers

how dependent we humans are

on that sparkle of warmth and light

for inner joy to give us hope

greed enriches no one

greed enriches no one

the act of plundering thickens

our skin and our waistline

makes us sullen and grasping

we surrender our place in the glorious

diversity that surrounds us and, worse,

despoil and deplete it so what we pass

on to the next generation is a mere

shell of what we were given

each generation needs its own

humble appreciation and maturity

to assume responsibility to sustain

the richness of our Earth

each person needs to do what he can

to heal what greed has stripped of joy

even for the ‘me’ generation

which of us, when our child asks

for bread, would hand him a snake?

struggles needless

as animals, we find ways to ease

our burdens and conserve strength

double registry of wolf prints in snow

where hind foot slips into ready-made

print of its forepaw

or Canada geese fly in vee formation

so only one need take on full force

of the air currents we cannot see but

they must fight—and he is spelled

by another from the flock when tired

cooperation helps us all, yet we humans seem to need to learn that lesson

again and again

rich tone painting

green parading in nature as a multitude

tints, hues, opacities, intensities

pigments, stains, tinctures from near yellow

chartreuse, citron, pistachio, smalt, terre-verte

to glistenings of aqua, azure, woad, indigo, zaffer

each tree its own patterns of shadow

and brilliance, each blade of grass

a whisper that dares to join the chorus

of field, meadow, link or lawn

to name them all – impossible, but

oh, the fun of trying!

emerald, olive, avocado, jade, lime, bottle, sea…

something comfortable

i slip into something comfortable

well-worn slacks and soft, long-armed

shirt that warms, caresses arthritic

wrists and helps bent fingers write

what my nature-filled acres

in the foothills gifts to my joyous soul

after the storm

sol has settled to mere colossal splurges

of solar wind hurling into space

without favoritism toward life on earth

survival is our business although

our shortsighted greed and propensity

for hatred seem more than adequate

to secure annihilation on our own

weathered face

(haiku)

weathered face of stone

or battered sea cliff or man

life experienced

belief in self

(haiku)

white-speckled petunias

red petals drop cloth-looking

stand tall as if pink  

renewed hope

finally the head of the osprey female

showed above the high side of the nest

to give me hope of the survival

of this pair that has come each year

for a decade to ritchey road

weeks ago we watched the male

at work reinforcing the sticks and daily

from then perching near or flying off

as though for food for a family we

could not see and were concerned

had not survived the spell of nasty

weather that came down on them

not long after we were sure their eggs

had been laid for the next generation

scrubs not exactly bullies

flaunting dusky blue, white bib

and greater size western scrub jays

land on the curved metal support

for the bird feeder platform

and chickadees, wrens, even thrushes

flit away from their midday snacking

to allow the intruder full access

to the tiny yellow, red and green beads

in the metal bowl

it isn’t exactly bullying, just taking

what is offered by smaller

less assertive neighbors

water’s give and take

tiny waves sweep outward

crisscrossing intricate competing circles

between rows of feathered carrot tops

as each dense raindrop plummets

from the toolshed’s melodious

metal roof splashing, heavy,

into shallow brown ditch water

or trickle into rivulets gurgling

to caress the lowest points

of Mama’s garden

I scour her fine furrows

with the blunt end of a stick

trying to drain this overabundant

life-sustaining gift of water to keep

it from drowning her days

of planting, hoeing and

humming in hope

aurora shield

without the swirls, draping sheets

and dancing colors

this time I was less captivated

by the eerie magic of aurora

but more impaled by the raw power

of these stiff probes of hazy light

that arch from horizon to horizon

battle-strength powers enclosing me

as earth’s magnetic field defends

its helpless life forms

should a weakness or break occur

within that spherical shield

the sun’s tantrum would – will –

engulf us in fiery fury unimaginable

shafts of northern lights

shafts of northern lights

arch from horizon to horizon

muted white, at times tinged

with green or pale maroon

rather than pink but strangely still

as though embedded in faint haze

third night of aurora borealis

from our sun’s upheavals, flares

of intense, chaotic storm

hurling fierce, solar winds

against earth’s electro-magnetic shield

how little we comprehend

our fragile haven amidst

the battle of titanic forces waging

so close around us

aurora borealis reprisal

 faded but discernible

because a repeated pattern

of the night before

brightening along the northern

pine tops, centered below

the north star as dusk sky

to the southeast

settles into indigo

gradually that northern glow

grow turquoise, then aquamarine

and haze lines, long in reaching

toward the zenith, become distinct

some carrying dull greenish tint

other rays blushing like youth

caught glancing toward a centerfold

but still able to protest

“No, Mom, I never saw anything – it

was just there.”

in awe watching

in awe watching a bobcat kit

even younger than my first

lynx rufus visitor was years ago

newly independent but already

patient watching, watching

but not still, he sits on haunches

bobbed tail barely behind him

floretted forelegs extended

under muscular shoulders

pointed ears erect over

squarish head turning as he

watches, surveys, twists, watches

and then—he is gone

so young, but knowing

how to hunt, he is gone

                 live reporting, mjNordgren  5/9/2024  N

watercolor storm sky

a watercolor storm sky

of billowing clouds of grays

agonized purple and yellow

tortured by erupting orange

from angry, mottled blues

edging toward precipitating

their slivers of ice and shafts

of slashing rain when placating

winds shift their proximity

allowing sunshine to mediate

the argument to tete-a tetes of spring

talk with birds

i wish i could talk with birds

that would make it easier to communicate, although hummers

do pretty well eyeball to eyeball

like the little Anna’s who chided

me through the window for allowing

the red, liquid treat to be depleted

or my zebra finch who patted

my hair as i reached into their cage

to give them fresh seed and water

or the snowy owl who watched me

standing in awe admiring him

and turned nearly full circle, posing

so i could have the full experience

of his splendor

or the osprey dad who glanced at me

as, worried, too, i watched

with him his oldest chick

gathering courage for its

first flight from the rugged nest high

on the platform of a utility pole

still, their plaintive cries or smiley

chirps and twitters leave me wondering

if their sounds mean to them what

their calls stir within my own emotions

i wish i were wise enough to understand

fauna symphony

cunning that the sounds birds

and animals trill or caw or rumble

are subtly attune in pitch and timing

to be heard by their own between

and among all the others

if we could detect flora communication

would it, too, be finely interwoven?

dawn directions

haiku

 brilliant pink-orange east

dawn reclaiming from gray mists

moving sunrise north

sounds of water

waves sweeping in for a bow

with quiet grace or flourish

shawl or cape whipped white

as raindrops splat on metal roof

or plummet onto furrowed earth

and trickle into gurgling rivulets

streaming toward roaring, gnashing

rivers to the sea to full circle

as pounding waves or lifted

by evaporation to cling to tiny particles

and fall again as rain

each role and costume enhanced

by sound that reach our souls