Winter Brown

Here under gray skies the colors fail.
Green has faded, yellow gone, red is only
Litter found where children’s feet played.
Brown, brown survives.

The air bites with icy teeth, bites again.
Trees hold their leaves, brown and thick
Against their chests. Dead grass rustles.
Small chirps, squeaks, then beavers sail

Along the wetlands, busy pulling brown
Branches toward their lodge. A heron steps
Out of the grasses, stabs into the water,
Retrieves a catfish. Minnows streak into

Streams from eddies, a school of gymnastics
As they flip, swirl, dance, tag and run
Toward the river. A river otter slides down
The muddy banks, brown fur coated in

Slippery red-brown clay which washes off
Creating a particulate fog of camouflage,
Nipping and biting their dinner on a water cruise.
Crows chase bard owls, who wish to nap

On shore-bound trees. Smaller birds join
The cacophony of shrieks and cries, always
One step behind the bigger birds. They are there
For the excitement, but not fools. Owl talons

Are sharp, like the cold. Sparrows pull small
Grasses to line nests, which sit abandoned
Until the temperature rises enough for eggs
To warm in the sun, the missing sun.

The Race


Cee’s Odd Ball Photo Challenge: 2016 Week 44

Leaving Galveston on 9/11, we had an escort of US Coastguard. The Jo Kiri had an escort of dolphins. I thought at first they were trying to get out of the way, but no, they jumped, leapt, fell, splashed and returned. This went on until the Jo Kiri was out of sight.

The Wave

The Eagle’s Rush


It was there, over my head in the swamp,

That I met the dancing wind.

With a speed that rushed the world past

as I stood still, I was inspected, rejected,

Passed over as a dinner treat.

Who was I to walk there in another world?

Who was I to seek secrets?

I spun on my heels looking for power.

Turned quickly to spy the motion I felt,

more than saw.

Dancing on my tip toes, I tried to follow.

Not for me, the race through the trees,

Not for me, the freedom to fight, to fly.

Oh, but envious eyes I did cast

after the lord of the sky.

The Beginning

The barred owl in back of the house 
Sings it's song of contest.
"Are you there? How dare you!"
I have learned his song.
I sing it back with all of the owl in me.
His chicks must be near to hatching.
His calls are more intense each night.
Dawn will bring a murder of crows
And small sparrows to nip at his wings,
As the sun rises and he retires to a nest
With mate sitting and waiting
For parenthood to begin.