May 23: "New for Spring!"

vireo singing
or the green leaves that hide him
new spring menu

May 12: World Migratory Bird Day

spring bird walk

remembering the many 

shades of leaf green 

October 25: Greenery

Under a heap of leaves

pot of chives still green

still pungent

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October 23: Reflex

Dark and stormy night--
I keep swerving
to avoid skittering leaves.

October 20: Bare branches, bare arms in the cold

Trees shivering, leaves lost,
colors fading underfoot--
I'm not ready.

May 30: Maple leaves like fat green hands

Warbler sings unseen
from behind the screen of leaves.
I've waited for this.

May 27: Rain again

In this greener world

it's easier to bear

more rain. 

May 14: Leafing out

Backyard maple leaves unfurl,
hands opening
to offer spring's blessings.

October 23: Pandora

Listening to Pandora Internet Radio while at work...

Ah, this song,

and those last red leaves.

I get nothing done.

October 19: Sumac

Scarlet sumac leaves,
scarlet sumac berries.
A turkey scuttles past.

October 18: Storm passing

Was walking in the wet woods this morning just as the rain clouds were lifting away and the last drops shaken loose from the branches shone in the incipient sunlight.

Gold aspen leaves plastered
on the forest floor,
one wet, white mushroom.

May 10: Greening

A couple of days of rain and mist, and the trees in our backyard have really greened up and leafed out.

Much-needed rain falls.
Yard becomes a leafy stage
through which one crow flies.

April 10: Beech leaves

I thought at first it was a flowering tree shining in the forest as I drove back roads to Belfast, but it was a beech tree still holding on to last year's pale leaves, which reflected the morning light.

Last year's leaves still shiver
on the spring beech.
Hard to let go of the past.

October 19: Floating leaf

When I looked out the window first thing this morning, I noticed a red leaf paused in the air, floating against the white door of the shed. It took me a moment to realize that the leaf wasn't frozen in space or time, but caught in a spider web.

Red leaf stuck in a web.
My in-laws trapped a fox
in their backyard.

August 23: Summer's ending, or Do we just need some rain?

Already dead leaves
pile up on the back porch,
crackle underfoot.

April 23: New leaves in the rain

Over the weekend when we were checking out the shops of Portsmouth, I found myself drawn over and over to green things: a sage green fleece, a leaf green tee shirt, a chartreuse cardigan, a necklace of green leaves with little pearl flowers. This morning I was moved to wear an uncharacteristically bold (for me) print dress of big green and brown flowers and leaves. When I looked out the rain-streaked window, I realized what was going on. Along the river, shining in the rain, the popples and maples unfurl their bright green leaves. And I'm trying to wear them! Perhaps that's my way of taking on some of that renewing energy--"that force that through the green fuse drives the flower," to quote poet Dylan Thomas.

I want to be spring--
that neon green of new leaves,
hair washed clean by rain.

November 21: Winter is coming

My husband and I are reading George R. R. Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" fantasy series, of which there are now five books of an anticipated seven (or more). The first book is "A Game of Thrones," which is the title of a recently launched HBO series that we've enjoyed almost as much as the books. The central protagonist in "A Game of Thrones" is Eddard Stark, the fair-minded, strong Lord of the North in his castle Winterfell.

In the world Martin has created, the seasons follow an unpredictable pattern, with summer often lasting for years until suddenly all is plunged for an indeterminate time into deep winter. In Eddard's Northern lands, as in New England, the climate is naturally colder than the South, and wild creatures stalk dark forests. One detail I appreciate is that Winterfell would be a freezing pile of rocks if it weren't for the fact that it's heated by geothermal energy and surrounded by hot springs. As long as one can take a regular hot bath, things can't be that bad.

Each of the aristocratic families in this society has both a sigil and a motto by which they are identified and characterized. The Stark family sigil is the dire wolf, a creature which ends up playing a key role in the lives of Eddard's children. The family motto is "Winter is coming," a rather somber reminder that no matter how good things seem, the reckoning of winter could always be right around the corner. That phrase came to mind today when I stepped outside and felt instantly chilled to the bone. I'm not ready for winter yet, Eddard Stark. But ready or not, winter is coming.

Winter is coming.
Chickadees cache seeds. They know.
And leaves, they shiver.

November 14: Flying Leaves

A gust of (uncharacteristically warm) wind blew through the trees, releasing a burst of brown leaves that flew into the air like a small flock of sparrows. At first glance, I thought they were birds, until they began to drift and swirl slowly, weightlessly to the ground. Sometimes when I'm driving around these days, leaves skitter in front of my car and I almost brake, thinking they're small animals.

Animated leaves
enjoy one last fling before
landing, moldering.

October 5: Leaf

A moment of beauty amid the mundane: I've just parked my car in downtown Camden, and I'm scooting around to the passenger side door so I can get out my registration and insurance card to register my car at the town office across the street. As I open the door, I notice a single, perfect, bright yellow leaf on the sidewalk,  a composite of five leaflets on one twig. The parent tree, an ash, immediately recognizable by its straight, grooved trunk, shades the village green. It's probably been there for a century or so. The leaf I find is the only yellow one visible, the only one fallen--the rest of the foliage in sight is still green and on the boughs. So I pick up the leaf offering and stash it on the front seat. Later, when I'm done with my errands and back in the car, the sight of it makes me smile.

Why this leaf fallen
when the park is still so green?
Hint of things to come...

In light of this moment and then the news tonight of the death of Steve Jobs, 56, founder of Apple, I got to thinking about mortality. A dear friend unexpectedly passed away a couple of weeks ago (he was barely older than Steve Jobs), and this quotation attributed to Steve Jobs that was going around Facebook tonight spoke to me like that single ash leaf:
‎"No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose." - Steve Jobs in 2005 after being diagnosed with cancer

November 4: Flying Leaves

And the season starts to shut down. Yesterday morning I woke to the first heavy frost, rime on the lawn and a carapace of white lingering like snow on the neighbors' roof. I had to scrape my car windows for the first time since last winter. This morning before the rains began, the slopes of Ragged Mountain, where I was walking, were burnished deep bronze, the russet of dying embers, just one tone removed from dead brown. Birch bark shone starkly amid branches bared to the wind. Crisp oak leaves leapt through the air like small birds, skipping on unseen eddies and currents in the sky. Small birds, juncos, scattered amid the dry leaves. Things were aswirl in the calm before the storm. So the appearance of two ravens, hoarsely cawing and dipping amid the loose leaves, fit the day's mood. They flew swiftly overhead as if whipped by the wind, but they knew exactly where they were going.

Leaves skitter like birds,
birds scatter like leaves. Two black
ravens ride the wind.