I do a lot of hiking and woods walking in Indiana and Michigan. Sometimes I’m looking up at the sky, fascinated by how vast it is and colorful. Most of the time I’m looking in places most don’t think about as they pass by. Those small crevices under roots and decaying logs. At a hole…
Tag: nature
The Beaver
With a slap of the water, ripples shimmer in the moonlight. “Go away, beaver, this is our river,” shouts he. The beaver calmly floats to the shoreline and takes a seat in the grass next to the two fellows sitting dazed by the river. “It’s not your river, nor is it mine,” the beaver says….
Dreary Day
Gray clouds hovering Cold damp trees Wind stirs Nothing moves in the shadows Half froze ponds sit idol Calm Rage within the vessel Crunchy field’s of decay Looming memory Wet logs Nowhere to be still Embrace The suck Among us.
To Belding the River Flows
Infused rambling in dim-lit aisles, Strange vibrations heaping into piles, I float the river for miles. I say, “We need to float; float that boat, all the way to Belding.” This we did, and with the river, we sing. To an island, we came to be. “Let’s make some chili,” I say. Looking above in…
Last Day of Squirrel Season
So there I go, Off to the woods, on a sunny day in the snow. It’s the last day of squirrel season. Dad was supposed to go, We have a competition every year, to see which one will shoot the most. Last year I won. This year he’s one ahead. I’d like to shoot five,…
The Creek Behind the School
I grew up in Claypool Indiana, a small farm town covered on all sides by cornfields and small patches of woods. It was a typical small town. The kind of place where everybody knew everybody. There was a good amount of kids in town my age and we always had something to do. Most of…
Winter Trail
I slide on those battered Columbia hikers leaning off the side of my hammock swinging trail side. The feel of warm wet socks from the day before slipping unwanted inside a frozen shoe. With the crunch of snow and clanging of spikes, like a herd of turtles we go stomping down that trail. To hell…
Where do the Beavers go?
Lying in a bed of grass, waiting on the unknowing slap of the river. Clouds roll like smoke, drawn to the ringed moon like flies on shit. “This is our river,” one shouts. “It’s not ours, nor the beavers, but we all shit where we sleep,” says the other. Trees sway in a whisper of…
Hello, Autumn
Hello, Autumn. Coming in on a wet breeze, Drenching your promise to the bones. Darkness now reigns in temporary glory, Waiting in dilapidated hovels for the horrors to unfold, a blanket of snow surpasses tortured souls in the algorithm. Life-suckers on the prowl with baited hooks lingering over weakened stock, the darkness has come. But,…
Slug Words 