dust between my fingers flitters away in breeze i barely register
sand between my toes tenders memories of childhood joy
garden earth between my palms enriches past and future
for garden dirt that supplied our table promises to feed our family’s souls
gentle moments catch us unaware
draw us into knowing we share
something deeper than words
shifts into catching our breath
the ululation of screech owls
claws raw the wounds of loss
while mourning doves coo companionable comfort
a sunbeam pierces thunderhead
to light a path between heaven
and earthling and soft peace settles
on a mourning gasp
moments without preparation
startle us into assurance
beyond grief or fear, if only
for that instant
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
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
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.”
glitter, glisten, ripple, dance
sparkle with reflected sunlight
painfully bright sequins
flash the passion of the coastal waters
in multiple competing tangos
as each breath of wind salsas
to its own drummer
dipping and swirling partner waves
in frantic and yet enticing embrace
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
haiku
snag-bruised clouds hov’ring
near drought-shriveled stalks endow
beads of survival
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
funny what people choose to admire
physical beauty that requires
face lifts and tummy tucks
perfume and make-up
to try to sustain
or money which is which is a paper
promise easily burned or stolen
or conned or lost to greed or failure
to mend unseen holes in pockets
when, all around us
is a wealth of beauty maintained
by mother nature and geologic time
flora and fauna richly varied, colorful
beyond our far-flung imagination
waves gliding or pounding
into shores smoothed or carved
or gouged into wondrous cliffs
or dunes or caves resounding
with joy abundantly shared if
we would only be still and listen, look
touch, taste, smell and welcome
MJ blathers