Satisfaction

There’s something satisfying

about the heft of an axe swung

and the crack of firewood split

in one smooth motion, over

and down and through, two equal

halves falling, on one side and the other.

Sacrifice for the Fallen

The snow is gone and the earth still damp, but dry enough

to wander out, so I take the dogs and look now for the trees

I heard crashing in the winter wind, fierce winds rattling

my windows and my nerves, and swaying the uppermost

branches of the trees, snapping some of them off at their base.

A loud crack rings out to announce their defeat, or the soft hush

of a tree blown over, dragging its roots out of the ground and slicing

down through an old forest, slowing its descent, perhaps even

fighting its fall, trying to keep itself aloft, tall and straight and strong,

yet lowered as into a grave, its landing soft and unheard.

We found them, the dogs and I, lying where they fell to die alone

or in great piles, whole groves gone down in Nature’s fury, succumbing

to what must be, nature mending itself, left there for us to find

in springtime’s new promise of life, in our own swaying, reminding us

of ourselves, even as we break out saw and axe and sledge,

clearing up this carnage, salvaging what we can, returning to earth

what we can’t, burned in a great pyre, sacrificial smoke rising,

the heavy scent of fir and oak, pitch and pine, rising to the heavens,

an offering to nature’s power, kept at bay in this winter of our lives. 

The Garden

The snow is nearly gone out by the garden,

just the crusty remains of the snow piled there

in my plowing and some small patches frozen still

in the shade of the low brush nearby, but spring

warmth and wind have cleared that little plot of land

where my perennials need to be tended to this year.

I’m not much for gardening, to be honest, just want

to put the plants in the ground and watch them bloom,

coming back every year with little help from me,

and this past year they did grow, but weakly, a feeble attempt

from the previous years’ abundance, little color and spindly stalks.

Today, the sun shining, is a good day to take out my rake and hoe

and spade and dig around the garden, take out some

plants, perhaps put in some new ones, turn the soil

to breath and drink in the rain of April showers, and add

some fertilizer, extra nutrients, nourishment my long ago

forest soil just can’t provide anymore. They need,

like all of us, a little help to blossom and bloom, to fill

the world with ourselves, our winter shed and our beauty

shared in the passing of seasons, the warming of the days ahead. 

Early Morning Darkness

In the early morning darkness dwindling,

the street lights are still on, illuminating Main Street

of our little town; the only folks up and out are

Cathy down at the convenience store brewing

coffee and laying out fresh baked donuts

for the truckers, log laden rigs, passing through

and the blue-collar crews, shift work in the mills

and factories, early risers, like me, pumping gas, and Jimmy

coasting into town on his bike, his neon safety vest reflecting

the street lights’ early morning glow in the darkness dwindling.