The Mountain
Ash grove is always a fascinating spectacle in the fall…After watching for
several days…recording the thoughts, mentally painting the picture for a sit down
at the table, in the window with a pen and paper tablet. Today was the day for a 30 minute stream of natural consciousness
in this narrative prose poem about a reoccurring seasonal fascination with the
American Robin’s cycle of life…When I stop to ponder the irony, actually our circle
of life is just as round…
…a narrative prose poem by ©
2012 Harlon Rivers
Hops and
jumps are blurry motion across the dewy meadow floor,
as the
dawn brushes away the sandman’s magic
from the
corner of sleepy eyes.
A sudden hazy
yet abrupt stop…
A hasty, halting,
motionless freeze...
Stillness, as if some final destination had been reached…
Neck
stretched and craning,
Tilted
with an eye to mother earth.
With a
focus beyond interruption.
In the
blink of an eye,
In a motion too rapid to capture,
the
nowness of motion, flashes.
She
stretches the earthworm with the grasp of subsistence
knowing
after fall comes the long winter.
The
morning sun illuminates the glow of the Native Maple’s
glorious
orange and yellow color palette.
A steady
stream of activity rushes in and out
of the
giant tree’s golden splendor.
Abundance
perishes with the seasonal gardens decay.
Mornings
of blueberry and strawberry feasts
have left
the red breasted robbers foraging
for the
last rotting apples the deer have left behind.
Gleaners
of fall and winter..
“Teeek” “tuk” “tuk” “Tseep” fills the overhead air
The flock
returns repeatedly to and from the towering Maple
to the ripened
cornucopia of berry clusters of the Mountain Ash.
The
Robin’s flock ravage and gorge on the plentiful delights.
Soon the
crimson berries fuel of flight will disappear
as if it
were only an illusion of the passing seasons.
The pearl
gray sky is an ominous backdrop for the fickle fleeting migrants.
Daylight
fades as the flock disappears into a break in the clouds
of the
ominous pending winter sky…
In the
blink of an eye...life’s seasons transform
The
stormy whirling winds of change
carry the
golden leave’s splendor across the rolling vista.
The naked
rooted scaffold’s branches stretch
across the
sprawling tapestry of the wooded sanctuary.
Winter
flocks of Thrush and Robins, arrive on a frosty new dawn
Red
breast feathers puff with the morning sun’s rays,
warming the
tree tops leaning toward the southern sky.
Their
journey here and now,
from distant mountainous horizons,
is part
of this soul’s circle of life…
~Harlon Rivers October 23rd, 2012~
