Saturday, November 9, 2019

Preparations


Preparations

A few weeks ago deer gathered beneath the apple trees, meadowland and mountains a security of sorts, although coyote (and ever rumored mountain lion) must have been aware of their presence.  Early one morning a late birthed fawn darted about, no adult in sight.  I slowed the car, pondered what to do; startled it more, and my heart grieved.  Sweetness lured them, juicy ripe, bordered on rotten; can't imagine amount of sugar consumed.

The wild orchard is vacant now, temptation played its part, trees less weighted, resplendent for a stint in temporary burnished glory.  Now that's gone too; first frost has lashed her icy tongue and deer slip out of woodland earlier; perhaps for breeding, but consuming as much green as possible.  I wrap my shawl closer, walk the dogs, their awareness of danger or hardship almost non-existent; wolf-like instincts dormant as they beg the cats to befriend them.  Fireside has yet to be shared.

A fine line exists between wild and domestic.  How long would it take for survival and instinct to kick in, or would my puppies be like the fawn, startled out of safety, nature taking its course?  How would I fare if grocery store vanished, if I had to can apples and store food for winter?

Apples over-ripe
a last desperate banquet
before winter's fast.

by Margaret Bednar, November 9, 2019

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Just One Word - Burnished"





Sunday, November 3, 2019

Autumn Breath

"Autumn Breath" by Jason Limberg
Instagram jasonlimberg
Autumn Breath

Autumn breath is forgiving,
doesn't force one to pick and choose
like summer heat or winter freeze
but lets one embellish
with silk or knitted scarf,
wrap up in woolen shawl
or don t-shirt with shorts or jeans.

Whispers tenderly, not quite lover,
perhaps more confidante;
listens as I divulge aspirations,
start thinking of a new year,
new beginnings.

A bit like the beavers 
who have fashioned snug shelters,
secured fortifying food,
pelts winter-ready.

A bit like Hunter's Moon
sliding into Full Frost,
soon to become Cold Moon
arcing high across the sky;
change and yet, familiar.

Like caribou who shed 
seasoned antlers
patiently awaiting new velvet,
I too anticipate a crowning;
not one seen, but one inspiring
gifting me with grace, with confidence,
in order to triumph and thrive.

All this in an Autumn Breath.

by Margaret Bednar, November 3, 2019