Golden hour
A beckoning spirit of gladness seemed afloat,
That lightly danced in laughing air before us:
The earth was all in tune, and you a note
Of Nature's happy chorus.
'Twas like a vernal morn, yet overhead
The leafless boughs across the lane were knitting:
The ghost of some forgotten Spring, we said,
O'er Winter's world comes flitting.
Or was it Spring herself, that, gone astray,
Beyond the alien frontier chose to tarry?
Or but some bold outrider of the May,
Some April-emissary?
The apparition faded on the air,
Capricious and incalculable comer.--
Wilt thou too pass, and leave my chill days bare,
And fall'n my phantom Summer?
--William Watson
Run
Cinnamon scent of leaf litter,
Rustling golden-dry grass of fall,
Out on the marsh,
Mother Mallard remonstrates,
Urgently schooling her late brood.
The hunting heron
Pauses in thought,
Listening in on
The secret whisperings of the wind,
Chattering nonsense in the treetops.
Rain-freshened cedars sweeten the air,
Silver drops pearling on pine needles,
Like Christmas baubles,
Glistening in the watery sunlight.
Heartbeat footfall rhythm.
Light flickers through the trees.
Feet skip over streaks of sun and shade
Splashed across the road.
Impact.
Transfer.
Flight.
Repeat.
Two strides in
The body knows
And responds.
Impact.
Transfer.
Flight.
Repeat.
Singular moment
Of elevation,
Weightlessness,
Gravity,
Already the next reach begins.
Breathing transcendent.
The world fills my lungs
With sweetness and life,
Then leaves me again.
Borrowed then returned.
Constant give and take.
Briefly, the cold air of winter
Reveals the process
In puffs of white vapour.
I am alone
But never lonely.
My shadow always runs
Half a stride ahead.
Subconscious romps along,
Nimbly leaping, loping free,
Skittering snippets,
Bridging seamlessly, randomly,
One thought to the next,
Ideas, memories, preoccupations.
Digest bad news,
Process disappointments,
Spin plans from hopes and dreams,
Confront fears.
The lime green hues of early spring,
Garland the skeletal forest.
Singsong chords of an impromptu torrent,
Cascading down the rock face,
After the rain.
Furtive crashing in the birches;
Unseen forest creature startles at the intrusion.
Crow on the road ahead
Hops begrudgingly away
From its spoils,
Flutters to a high branch,
Cawing displeasure
At the interruption.
Angry redwing patriarchs,
Swooping boldly,
Piping cries of fury,
Giving chase,
Until the territory of the unseen nest
Is again safe
From the threat
That I do not present.
The utter stillness of a misty winter morning,
Black and white photograph,
Holding its breath,
Waiting, calling,
Listen closely:
Hear the snowflakes fall.
Is that another runner up ahead?
Shall I try to catch them?
Surge.
