In the mornings,
I see happy people
walking after their dogs
with the light step
of a brand new day
green bag in hand,
dogs sniffing and joyfully
retracing familiar territories.

In the evening,
I see now weary people
walking after their dogs,
with slavish indifferent and
desire to be anywhere else
green bag in hand,
dogs sniffing and joyfully
retracing familiar territories.

It seems the dogs know
no difference, and along
with the green bags are
the only constants
in this observation.

Clearly the dogs have
better days than
their masters who
become their slaves
by each day’s end.

As a child, I never thought
of water as something I needed
of education as something needed
… nor wanted,
or for that matter,
freedom (for whatever it means)
as something needed

For they were given freely
assumed and ever present…

As was love,  not thought of as needed.
It was just there, as too were
appropriate behaviour adjustments,
to teach respect for all others,
a form of love I didn’t know I needed.

These things given
without condition.
Come with no guarantee,
must not be returned unopened,
for they must be used,
if not understood at the time, until
they become a part of who we are.

Something to be added to
and passed down, and is this then,
not the essence of civilization?
Without which, only chaos
and the wildling of life
would live in its place.

Many worry about the future
and just as many lament the past.
And some too few are changing the present.

War’s refugees, the maimed, the dying,
the children, and destroyed cities
ever present suffering here and now…

Climate’s refugees, the displaced,
the economically ruined, the drought, fires,
ever present storms, here and now…

Autocracy’s refugees, the morally
corrupt, the domination of minds, body,
and ever present suppression, here and now…

What’s the point of lamenting later
about a future we’ve failed today
in this, our season of here and now…

Bald Eagles are amazing creatures,
building nests over years
that may weigh a ton, and living
twenty to thirty years in the wild,
and up to fifty years in captivity.

In the wild, Nature can be brutal,
she is all about selection and purpose.
Whereas we worship capture, and
comfort, as it is and should be.
Preferring longevity and comfort of the
nests we build for ourselves and
our hatchlings… who if they fly,
we wish will often return to home,
to recapture, remember, recoup,
and we can watch over them,
in their natural state.

Then for fun we go to be in Nature,
which we have captured and groomed
to be what we envisioned her to be,
even tamed her, or so we may think.
It is our nature to capture,
nurture, and redefine her.
But she has different plans for us,
as it is always to be her nature
and preference for evolutionary
selection and purpose.

This morning
a mourning dove has
chased the marsh birds song
replacing it with its own
most melancholy tune,
singing from the chimney,
from dawn to noon a song
of someone or another
who may be no more.

Or, possibly it is nothing but
nature’s process which
banished the marsh bird
and her song which for months
insistently announced each day.

Everything moves to its
next place in a cycle of life,
and so it goes.

Endless change is life’s purpose,
and endless fascination
in what was, is and will be.

The idea that all things
should stay the same,
as if permanence is a virtue,
seems a violation of nature
for all the living,

and yet,  don’t we all want
the song to stay the same
for a little while longer?

The art of going nowhere
and returning gracefully.
The joy of wind and sail
and waves, for the sake of same.
The birds, the dolphins,
they play along in harmony.

Like children wandering
in the woods, inventing
fantastic adventures
we blissfully imagine
exploring the everywhere
of the worlds great oceans.

The mind wants to see
horrors in black and white.
War as newsreel abstractness,
not in clarity of bright light.

Not in color of death’s blue
nails of translucent hands
and bloods brown red hue.

Fires bright orange and golds
exploding on our stage
as the bitter fight unfolds.

Chasing the shadows of pain
on the faces of survivors
showing wars ugly scar and stain.

Impossible to believe this is live
and not some apocalyptic movie
scene which we may forget and forgive.

But it is real, it is who we really are
and have always been, even though
we think we’ve advanced so far

Ice melts cool on the tongue
but is no cure for fever within.
The mind races ever faster
but fails finding godspeed.
The time of ages does not reverse,
but memories, live on in aging time.
And yet this fog of the past,
inspires clarity of present
and winged hopes for the future.