Snowy prints Down the ramp Whose are they? Some wild scamp
Perhaps fox Or wild cat — Which of you Would do that?
‘Cross the street Off you’d go River-ward Through the snow
While I slept There you trod All unseen But by God
But, by God, Prints reveal You exist You are real
You are close You are bold I must ask Aren’t you cold?
Today’s roll of the dice: JOYFUL, POEM, NATURE, STRANGER
I decided to write a Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire, an Irish poetic form that requires 3 syllable lines in quatrains. The second and fourth lines rhyme.
Also, I decided to look back at the photos on my phone for the first nature photo that wasn’t the moon and use that as additional inspiration.
I am perpetually cold this time of year. It was -7 when I first looked at the temp this morning. Hence the last line.
You blend in so well that I Almost passed by, but my soul Leapt as your head turned, follow- ing me, swallowing a vole,
Or who knows why? I caught my Breath. ’twas a sigh in reverse – A moment of surprised awe Then crows cawed and you dispersed.
Maybe I just blame the crows – Maybe you arose in broad- Winged flight because some other Thing broke cover at your nod
Tanka Tuesday Prompt: This week, choose a kigo (season word or seasonal phrase) and write your syllabic poetry using the word or seasonal phrase. My word was heron.
I’m not sure I understand the whole kigo thing. I’m dense maybe. Or my head is too full of trying to learn Gaelic. And French.
However, I chose a Welsh form that I’ve used before: Awdl Gywydd. It calls for internal rhymes and end rhymes.
Beautiful. I took you From the cat — Still you flew.
I’m awed at Your mettle. You shimmer, You settle,
And then you Fly away — The nothing That you weigh
That fluttered In my hand Lingers — so Fragile, grand
This is my second attempt at a Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire, an Irish poetic form that requires 3 syllable lines in quatrains. The second and fourth lines rhyme.
I draw the line at worms. I don’t rescue worms in the driveway after it rains.
Mary does that.
One day this spring she went to my brother’s house to feed his puppies and take them out, and it took her much longer than usual.
“Was there a problem?” I asked, picturing some sort of puppy mischief.
“No,” she said, “I rescued a worm in his driveway. Then I saw another and another. I couldn’t stop.”
I rescue red efts when I see them.
They’re just so darn cute.
More often than not, though, I see eft fatalities (eftalities?) as I walk our road.
One day in May, Mary and I found a confused turtle on the lawn. It was heading up the hill, away from the river and the road, but it had a long way to go before it reached any shade.
I texted my brother. “Hey — would you like a turtle to take into the classroom?” He’s known as Mr. Science, and, in the spring, often brings nature-y things to school.
By the time he answered, though, the turtle was gone.
A few days later I saw what I think was the same turtle crossing the road.
“No!” I yelled to it, and turned to bring my groceries in the house. When I got back out, I was too late. The turtle had already been run over by a car.
Sadly, I picked up the poor turtle, its shell cracked and turtle blood oozing out, and carried it across the road to our compost heap. I nestled it down in a little shady spot, returning it to the earth — ashes to ashes, dust to dust, you know, but without a true grave.
The next day, when I brought compost over, the turtle was gone.
Honestly, I thought a predator ate it. Or maybe the crows who are always raiding the compost decided to have a little turtle meat with their moldy bread.
Fast forward to today. I was waiting to cross the road to get the mail while a steady stream of cars drove past in both directions. After the last car, I took one last look down the road to make sure the coast was clear.
A turtle was crossing.
I sprinted to save that turtle.
The crack starts by its head and arcs left to its front leg
How it had made it as far as it did with all those cars was a mystery to me. When I carefully picked it up to carry it across, I saw it had already been injured in the past.
Was it the same turtle? The cracks in the shell were exactly where I remembered them.
I brought it across to the compost heap. It’s a safe place.
I visited it later in the day. It was in a different spot and had fresh injuries.
I guess turtles are slow learners.
Or the world is a dangerous place.
Or both.
Lately we’ve had a new visitor to our yard. I promise not to help it cross the road.
Hot Dogs and Marmalade 