Dust of Snow by Robert Frost

Dust of Snow
By Robert Frost

The way a crow

Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

 

Bright Star by John Keats

Bright Star
By John Keats

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—

         Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
         Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
         Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
         Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
         Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
         Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

Rain by Annella Grayce

Rain
By Annella Grayce

Soaking

Steady
Downpour
Sheets
Horizontal
Buckets
Torrential
Flooding
 
Rain falls in many ways
          but up

Light Shining out of Darkness by William Cowper

Light Shining out of Darkness
By William Cowper

1

God moves in a mysterious way,
      His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
      And rides upon the storm.

2

Deep in unfathomable mines
      Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
      And works his sov'reign will.

3

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
      The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
      In blessings on your head.

4

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
      But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
      He hides a smiling face.

5

His purposes will ripen fast,
      Unfolding ev'ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
      But sweet will be the flow'r.

6

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
      And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
      And he will make it plain. 1

God moves in a mysterious way,       His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea,       And rides upon the storm.  2 Deep in unfathomable mines       Of never-failing skill, He treasures up his bright designs,       And works his sov'reign will.  3 Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,       The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break       In blessings on your head.  4 Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,       But trust him for his grace; Behind a frowning providence       He hides a smiling face.  5 His purposes will ripen fast,       Unfolding ev'ry hour; The bud may have a bitter taste,       But sweet will be the flow'r.  6 Blind unbelief is sure to err,       And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter,       And he will make it plain.

The Human Seasons by John Keats

The Human Seasons
By John Keats

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;

     There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
     Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
     Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
     Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
     He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness—to let fair things
     Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

October by Robert Frost

October
By Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

Walking by Thomas Traherne

To walk abroad is, not with eyes,

But thoughts, the fields to see and prize;
         Else may the silent feet,
                Like logs of wood,
Move up and down, and see no good
         Nor joy nor glory meet.
 

Ev’n carts and wheels their place do change,

But cannot see, though very strange
         The glory that is by;
                Dead puppets may
Move in the bright and glorious day,
         Yet not behold the sky.

 

And are not men than they more blind,
Who having eyes yet never find
         The bliss in which they move;
                Like statues dead
They up and down are carried
         Yet never see nor love.

 

To walk is by a thought to go;
To move in spirit to and fro;
         To mind the good we see;
                To taste the sweet;
Observing all the things we meet
         How choice and rich they be.
 

To note the beauty of the day,

And golden fields of corn survey;
         Admire each pretty flow’r
                With its sweet smell;
To praise their Maker, and to tell
         The marks of his great pow’r.

 

To fly abroad like active bees,
Among the hedges and the trees,
         To cull the dew that lies
                On ev’ry blade,
From ev’ry blossom; till we lade
         Our minds, as they their thighs.

 

Observe those rich and glorious things,
The rivers, meadows, woods, and springs,
         The fructifying sun;
                To note from far
The rising of each twinkling star
         For us his race to run.

 

A little child these well perceives,
Who, tumbling in green grass and leaves,
         May rich as kings be thought,
                But there’s a sight
Which perfect manhood may delight,
         To which we shall be brought.

 

While in those pleasant paths we talk,
’Tis that tow’rds which at last we walk;
         For we may by degrees
                Wisely proceed
Pleasures of love and praise to heed,
         From viewing herbs and trees.

Babies by Annella Grayce

Babies always make me smile.

Baby humans learning to walk and talk.
Baby geese hissing just like their mother as I ride my bike past.
Baby birds squawking for food up in the tree.
Baby rabbits enjoying lunch in the yard.
Mamas are never far away.  Always watching for trouble. 
Sometimes you see them and sometimes you don’t.

Everything the Power of the World does is done in a circle

Everything the Power of the World
does is done in a circle
By Black Elk

Everything the power of the world does

is done in a circle.  The sky is round,
and I have heard that the earth is round
like a ball, and so are all the stars.
The wind, in its greatest power, whirls.

Birds make their nests in circles,

for theirs is the same religion as ours.

The sun comes forth and goes down again

in a circle.  The moon does the same,
and both are round.  Even the seasons
form a great circle in their changing,
and always come back again to where they were.

The life of man is a circle from childhood to childhood,

and so it is in everything where power moves.

Reprinted by permission from Black Elk Speaks: Being the Life Story of a Holy Man of the Oglala Sioux, The Premier Edition by John G. Neihardt, the State University of New York Press ©2008, State University of New York.  All rights reserved.

Sun shining by Annella Grayce

Sun shining

Wind rustling
Birds singing
Bunnies eating
Trees shading
Blood pressure lowering
Mind clearing
Heart calming

Shades of Green

Shades of Green

I lay on the grass and look up at a tree.

The dark green shades on the leaves are enlightened by the sun shining down.
All of this is accented perfectly by the deep brown trunk and branches.
I watch robins dance from branch to branch as they decide if I’m friend or foe.
A squirrel races up the opposite side of the tree.
He’s decided I’m a foe.
The alarm on my phone goes off.
Lunch break is over.

The Rain

The Rain
By Robert Creeley

All night the sound had

come back again,
and again falls
this quiet, persistent rain.

What am I to myself

that must be remembered,
insisted upon
so often?  It is

that never the ease,

even the hardness,
of rain falling
will have for me

something other than this

something not so insistent –
am I to be locked in this
final uneasiness.

Love, if you love me,

lie next to me.
be for me, like rain,
the getting out

of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-
lust of intentional indifference.
Be wet
with a decent happiness.

 

Used by permission.  Copyright 1983 by Regents of the University of California. (University of California Press)  From:  Americans’ Favorite Poems by Robert Pinsky and Maggie Dietz; © 2000 by Robert Pinsky; W.W. Norton and Company, New York

 

Fog

Fog
By:  Annella Grayce

I envy animals.

Survival of the fittest
means they don’t age.

They don’t contend

with the fog of age.

Why our human brains

fog over in age.
I will never understand.

Watching the fog

roll in is disheartening.

Gone is the fun

easy-going family member.
Fog is all that remains.

I envy animals.

Small changes

I've had fun writing this blog.  It takes a lot of time to write a blog every week.  Unfortunately more time than I have right now.  I'm going to change to posting every other week.  I've also noticed that the poetry gets more views than my little opinion pieces so poetry is all that will be in this blog from now on.  Thanks for reading.

Pied Beauty

Pied Beauty

By Gerard Manley Hopkins

Glory to be God for dappled things—

          For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
                   For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
          Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
                   And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

          Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
                   With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
                                      Praise him.

From:  Americans’ Favorite Poems by Robert Pinsky and Maggie Dietz; © 2000 by Robert Pinsky; W.W. Norton and Company, New York

 

 

 

Botanical Gardens

Many cities have a botanical garden.  Search for the one in your town.  They are so beautiful.  My thumb isn’t very green.  I admire the work and planning it takes to make these gardens a showcase.

Know that botanical gardens are different than nature centers.  A botanical garden is meticulously planned, every flower, every shrub, every blade of grass is put into its proper place.  As I said it’s a showcase.  A nature center is more concerned with keeping the land the way it was kept before we started building stuff.  It’s more natural.

Both spaces have their purpose.  Both have some kind of foundation to help financially keep the place going.  They may charge a small admission fee but that barely keeps the lights on.  That supporting group may sell plants in the spring or have special tours and classes during the summer.  Take advantage of those things.  Even if you don’t have the money to donate ask about volunteer opportunities and donate your time.  If you are enjoying the gardens make an effort to pay it forward, so your kids can enjoy them also.

Pack out what you pack in.

 

Wild Flowers

I wrote before that I don’t know a lot about the flowers and trees that I see then I go hiking.  I usually research that when I get home but I did do a little research on wild flowers for this blog.

Marion Edsall in her book “Roadside Plants and Flowers” makes a very interesting point.  “Many of the wayside plants . . . are ‘aliens’ in the biological sense . . .”  They come from the “Old World” either on purpose or by accident.  It makes me wonder what was here before we of European decent invaded the land.

Ox-Eye Daisy

Another great book I checked out from the library gave a more in depth way of identifying the wild flowers you find on the trail.  “Wildflowers of Wisconsin” written by Stan Tekiela is very well organized.  Mr. Tekiela divides his book by color of flower, size of plant then by the appearance of the flowers (clustered, bell shaped, etc.).  He also looks at the leaf shape and how they are attached to the stem (opposite, alternately, etc.).

Both books were very informative but kind of heavy.  I wouldn’t have room for lunch on my backpack if I hauled them on the trail.  Yeah, you’re right I could get a bigger back pack or eat a smaller lunch.  But doing the research when I get home is more fun for me.  I stop every 20 feet to take pictures, which means it takes me about 45 minutes to hike a mile of trail.  It would take me an hour if I looked every plant up on the trail.

Whether you decide to lug books with you or do your research later doesn’t matter just get outside and enjoy the flowers.

Pack out what you pack in.

 

Sources:

Roadside Plants and Flowers by Marian S. Edsall; University of Wisconsin Press, Madison, WI; © 1985 Board of Regents UW System.

Wildflowers of Wisconsin:  Field Guide by Stan Tekiela; Adventure Publications, Cambridge, MN; © 2000

Adapting

Writers observe then put those observations on paper (or on the computer screen).  I spend a lot of time observing the critters outside my living room window.  Rabbits, birds, and squirrels make up the bulk of my entertainment.  I’m always amazed at how the animals in my neighborhood adapt to the way we humans try to take over everything.  Birds find safety under the eaves we build.  Rabbits find food in the gardens we plant.  Squirrels get exercise from the dogs we’ve domesticated.  When I go for my morning walk sometimes I interrupt a deer’s breakfast in the park.  They have adapted to the changes we have made to their environment.

I sometimes wonder if we are adapting to the changes we’re making.  We spend a lot of time wringing our hands, lamenting the green we’ve lost.  We spend lots of money trying to stop the changes, mitigate the damage caused.

What’s done is done.  Yes, we’ve made mistakes but we can’t go back.  We can only stop remaking those past mistakes.  Does that mean stop all off shore drilling because we had a spill?  No, but we can make the drills safer.

We also need to keep our greed in check.  Think about it.  Most accidents happen because we are hasty.  We’re greedy.  We want everything now, without regard to the consequences.

Slow down.  Think about what you’re doing and how it will affect the future.  That makes a good steward.  The animals have adapted.  We should too.

Pack out what you pack in.

 

Deep in the Quiet Wood

Deep in the Quiet Wood
James Weldon Johnson

Are you bowed down in heart?

Do you but hear the clashing discords and the din of life?
Then come away, come to the peaceful wood.
Here bathe your soul in silence.  Listen!  Now,
From out the palpitating solitude
Do you not catch, yet faint, elusive strains?
They are above, around, within you, everywhere.
Silently listen!  Clear, and still more clear, they come.
They bubble up in rippling notes, and swell in singing tones.
Now let your soul run the whole gamut of the wondrous scale
Until, responsive to the tonic chord,
It touches the diapason of God’s grand cathedral organ,
Filling earth for you with heavenly peace
And holy harmonies.

From:  Black Nature:  Four Centuries of African American Nature Poetry, Edited by Camille t. Dungy, ©2009 by the University of Georgia Press, Athens, GA

Clean Lakes

When I was a kid my family went to a lake for a swim.  This lake didn’t have a sandy beach or a paved boat launch.  It was just a cool lake on a hot day.  We waded out, and I stepped on something sharp.  I panicked and screamed.  I’d cut the bottom of my foot on a beer bottle.  The cut wasn’t severe, but I was so embarrassed by how I overacted, and sad that we had to go back to a hot house too soon.

Clean lakes are so important.  Not just the water in them but the bottom and shoreline as well.  Trash, invasive plants and fish, and overdeveloping the shore are all causing damage to our lakes. 

 

There are all sorts of resources to help us keep our lakes clean.  Sierra Club, Nature Conservancy, WI DNR, US Dept. of Interior. just to mention a few.  But the most valuable resource to clean lakes is you.  Take responsibility for the stuff you drag to the beach.  In other words . . .

Pack out what you pack in.

 

Classification of Lakes

When I was researching lakes I picked up a very informative book at the library.  “Wisconsin Lakes” is produced by the Wisconsin Department of Revenue.  I had the version printed in 1995.  The first fifteen pages were so informative and where I got all this information.

In Wisconsin the lakes are classified by how the water gets into the lake.  There are four kinds.

Drainage lakes occur along rivers and streams because all their water comes from a nearby river.  The water drains into and out of the lake into the river.

Seepage lakes get their water from precipitation and from run off.  Their levels are dependent on the rain and snow that falls into the lake and its drainage area.  This is the most common lake in Wisconsin.

Spring lakes have ground water flowing up from the bottom of the lake.  These lakes usually are the head waters (start) of a river or stream.

Drained lakes get their water from precipitation and the water is constantly flowing out.  Although the book didn’t say where it was draining to.

This little pond is a seepage.

I thought it was interesting.  Streams create lakes and are created by lakes.  I never knew that before.

When I was a kid I lived on a spring lake.  The water levels were pretty consistent.  We never had water in our basement.  Maybe because we didn’t have a basement.

Next time I go to a lake I’m going to try and figure out what kind of lake it is.

Pack out what you pack in.

Thank you

Thank You
Ross Gay

If you find yourself half naked

and barefoot in the frosty grass, hearing
again, the earth’s great, sonorous moan that says
you are the air of the now and gone, that says
all you love will turn to dust,
and will meet you there, do not
raise your fist.  Do not raise
your small voice against it.  And do not
take cover.  Instead, curl your toes
into the grass, watch the cloud
ascending from your lips.  Walk
through the garden’s dormant splendor.
Say only, thank you.
Thank you.

 

Used with permission by the author.

From:  Black Nature:  Four Centuries of African American Nature Poetry, Edited by Camille t. Dungy, ©2009 by the University of Georgia Press, Athens, GA