To the Full Wolf Moon

The moon beckons to follow

over the marsh where water

has become ice, solid for fleeting

feet running through the rushes

holding once rampant waters still

for creatures to find their grasp

while they continue the hunt

of rabbits and fox that prowl

the night in the glow of the moon.

I weary of this chase, feet are raw

bleeding from the shards of ice

leaving prints in the snow to be

scented from my pursuer who will

soon be upon the limping formations.

There are outlines of trees ahead,

old maples and oak branches that

have become fuel for the pioneers fire

where they keep their hearth warm

and cook their food to provide heat

for their cabins in this bitter winter

and after this long and tiring chase

I will give my own fur only to feel

once more the heat and a hearty

welcome to join the clan once more. 

Winter Haiku

alabaster marble

under a blanket of snow,

the final resting

filaments of flakes

form cords of frozen crystals,

shimmers in street lights

hedge with snow laden

branches, sags under the weight,

home to resting doves

dried hydrangea heads

wear their winter tuques of white,

tassels of new flakes

full Wolf Moons halo

calls to me through closed shutters,

I become restless

cardinal of red

silhouetted in feeder,

twilights sepia

one foot of white shite

and counting this frigid night,

drapes drawn til morn light   ;)

Merry Christmas

This time of year we pause to celebrate the beauty of life.

It is all around us if only we make time to live with eyes wide open.

May your Christmas be magical and filled with love and laughter.

Cheryl 

Tag, you're it

There stands on the outskirts of my town a homage to a big cheese created a hundred years ago. It has long been forgotten by the town but I see it every day when I park my car.

Creative souls painted it a few years ago with their own tag. No one has noticed, well almost no one. It sits in silence almost in deference to the so called progression in this town.

Two years ago the same tag was painted on a derelict barn the town owned. No one noticed or at least spoke not a word until one day a so called reporter contacted the town to enquire what it was about. Shortly after the second tag was white washed with a response that it was vandalism and would not be tolerated. Ummm, vandalism? I had to shut me mouth in fear the original would suffer the same fate.

I was tempted to contact the reporter and suggest she investigate the meaning about the first one and its connection to the second, but pondered she doesn't really have a clue about the soul of the town and decided not to just in case this was white washed as well. And so the original still sits in silence.

While I understand some may call it destructive graffiti I have always admired the underground artisans. I relish sitting at the train crossings and seeing the tags, always colourful and full of meanings to the artists, while I attempt to decipher. Rolling Hello's I have named them.

We all want to leave our mark on this world and I believe this is their way. The next time you sit and curse at the crossing, seek the tags and wonder who and why painted them. But most of all smile and nod as you too understand their need for recognition.  

Book - Haiku

thumbed and dog eared books

stacked lovingly in bookshelves,

each one a treasure