pine trees
the only ones i know of on this thousand acres
probably hand-planted 30 years ago
buried in these woods
to watch this lonely pond
scott paints and i lie back in the boat
floating drowsily from sleep to book
oak maple sumac hickory elm sassafras
all starting their turn to winter
cattails losing green to grey
small blue wildflowers and goldenrod sparse residents of the banks
the reflection of trees in the lily pad framed wet blackness
the sound of crows, turkeys, jays, woodpeckers, birds i cant
    recognise and final october dragonflies reflect in the water
    as a bass shows himself feeding
wind drifts the boat
i paddle lightly to stay in our place
near the bank and goldenrod and pine trees
we are both alone in this boat
painting our pictures
watching the hawk fly over looking for a meal

four dead pine trees standing barren like haggard skeletal
    housewives
watching their children flourish across the pond
others already lying on the ground beside them

a dragonfly lights on my chest as i watch this ink dry to a
    perfect black matte
he lives here
allows me to visit
praises my quiet
appraises my poem and scott's painting
flies off and returns again to my chest or arm or shoulder

chipmunks play
rattling leaves and chasing acorns

it is never silent
sometimes quiet
but nature is loud

the hawk skims the treetops preying on leaves and calling out

no silence

insects-- crickets call
bullfrogs bellow
the trees move

the dragonfly returns
to my knee
with his partner
another pair flies by courting
one lands on my hand
leaving with the upstroke of the letters

the yellow jacket also lands on this page
to read and walk

only a few wispy stratus clouds mark the sky
and the slightest bit of a moon
soon to disappear
and become new as a spider wades through this ink

sunlight
warming
moving some shadows
off the boat

a pine cone falls into the water
it will cross to the other side of the pond
to replace its grey ancestor
crawling up out of the blackness

i correct our position with the paddle
two soft caresses of the water
as if lying in this boat on cushions
floating next to a lover--

the water is moving
the boat is moving
the air is moving
the sun the birds the dragonflies
the pine trees
all moving.

					



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