At times, in this grove,
Wild ducks wander by.
Waddling and posing
With tourists bustling by.
Some come for tulips
That sprout mid January,
Some come to feed ducks
Leftover crusts from their bread.
When mid-summer heat
Comes beckoning in,
Ducks make like rabbits
And scoot to cool ponds,
Where bugs and beetles
And minnows and reeds
Grow with abandon
In the glorious green.
Long sweeping willows
Tickle edges of the pond
With leftover foliage
Drifting on and again.
So summer to autumn
Leaves flowers drooping on,
Squirrels busying stores
For the onslaught of snow.
Freezing and dusting
Elements of the sky
To a mountain so high,
Silently sleeping,
Awaiting the thaw.
Tag: ducks
Sometimes (day 268)
Sometimes it hurts
Sometimes the blood trickles down the sides of your cheeks
And the cold cold hard ground is the only place to lay down
Sometimes faces stare back
Deep and ugly in contorted disgust with what their own eyes meet
Searching for an exit plan, a way out, or a weakness to abuse
Sometimes the is sunshine
Escaping through the clouds in little rays of dancing
Upon walls, upon half faces, upon new growth of flowers
Sometimes it just works
Sometimes when you put all the ducks in a row, and tie your shoes tight
Take those first steps, the others just seem to roll with the flow
Sometimes is what I look forward to
Each and every day that hands us chances to dive into the unknown
The shades of light that flicker back at our conscience and glow
