MOURNING DOVE

Do I hear a sound to something
           brushing the air overhead?

Could it be a drone?
      No, they keep their distance . . .
                                usually.

This time I hear two!
      Doves stay in twos.

Forever creating feelings.
      Reminders for one to keep a
            subdued presence.

A certain calmness
      for the soul.

And - for how long?
                                  Forever . . .

      Oh, I do,
               
                   do,
             
                       do.
                                               -Dedicated to my
                                                dearest.

Does Fracking Matter?

                        Does tracking and
                             removing oil
                    from under the ground -
                               matter to
                        the environment?
                           You Betcha!

      This is a true story that happened to a friend
            of mine. I won't mention his name.

I was visiting Art at his house. We were standing on the edge
of his black-topped driveway and I noticed many small ant
hills on the edge of the drive and commented on how busy
those creatures were!

He said, Yep, busy as ants they say - twice a day I sweep all
their little piles into the grass. 'Tis a little frustrating.

I commented - "Art.  It could get downright dangerous standing
here. Can't you imagine the big cavern that must be down there?"

Nothing to worry about, Clem . . . they are just little ants . . . 

Two days later the phone rang.  Clem?     "Yes Art . . . "

This morning, I went out to get into the van and the left front
wheel had sunk to its axel.

IT ALL BEGINS WITH A DREAM

I have a plan to begin, in a formal way, to meet with
children, youth, adults, and seniors in order to learn
with them the beauty and ways of nature. This I have
done on my own, or with a select group of acquaintances,
for much of my life.

Now, I wish to do it as part of some organization like
our local nature center.

I am pushed along the path by such people as Henry
David Thoreau, especially after reading the following
passage taken from his Journal entry of November 2, 1860:

         I think it would be worth the while
         to introduce a school of children to 
         such a grove, that they may get an
           idea of the primitive oaks before
         they are all gone. Instead of hiring
          botanists to lecture to them when
         it is too late. Why, you do not now
             often meet with a respectable 
              oak stump even, for they too
                        have decayed.

CLIMATE CHANGE: A Limited Time Offer

Now, here's the deal.

      (We knew it would
                     come to this
                   sooner or later.)

We've got an ever-
       shortening time frame to
              take advantage of
                    this
              once-in-a-lifetime
                    offer.

But,
       we have to
               act
                     fast!
                             This offer
               won't last.

Can't say if it will ever
        be available
               again.

It all does add up.
        and it's time to act !

                              One can always hope . . .

MINNESOTA FAT CAT HAS A THING OR TWO TO SAY

It’s that Day again. Groundhog Day! The Day when the whole country turns to us for wisdom.

But not this year it seems. Instead, the country is focused on IOWA. I know, I know. No one is paying much attention to us groundhogs - or our potential for making shadows.

Along with the rest of you I watched the whole circus last night on TV from the comfort of my burrow. I had stocked up on some of my favorite foods – lots of dark chocolate (it’s a myth that us animals mustn’t eat chocolate). And dill pickle potato chips and grape soda.

Actually, I had a secondary motive for stocking up. I had listened to the weather predictions and wanted to be sure I had enough provisions to tide me through.

Now, those Iowa shenanigans. I thought about traveling to Iowa to stand in line so I could cast my vote. But my cousin Phil in Pennsylvania texted me and said that was ill-advised. He had tried to do so four years ago and had gotten nowhere, but left out in the cold.

The best I understand the whole thing, is that there is this entertainer guy with hair who thought he would win. Then there is this hard-right Tea Party guy who did win. I think it was because he promised that if he was elected President, his Mrs. promised to restore French fries in school lunch programs. Michelle must have hurumphed at that one.

The guy with the hair, who is married to an immigrant with a lovely accent she didn’t learn here, says the winning guy can’t be Prez because he was born in Canada. After all Obama was born in the foreign country of Hawaii – where I don’t think any groundhogs live. Oh, I could go on and on. But I am already tuned in to New Hampshire.

And now that shadow stuff. I slept in so I was a bit slow to stick my head out of my burrow. Yikes! It was snowing. Big wet flakes. No question about seeing anyone’s shadow. So I returned to the comfort of my burrow and pulled up a documentary from Netflick.

Given how the winter has gone here this year (easy), I would have predicted an early spring anyway - without the bother of sniffing the outside. Now for Punxsutawney Phil, it's a different story. Those folks out East are yearning for spring to come. Philadelphia even managed more snow than DC and NYC in the latest round.

I would have suggested Phil come and spend a few months here, but he had already texted me that he was heading south after he did his shadow-duty today. He has already packed his swimsuit and sunscreen. Eager to go and soak up some rays!

THERMOCLINE

Early in a year's life . . .
a far northern lake's
water becomes frigid
and sinks to
find refuge
in the depths.

Eventually, springtime's
newly warmed surface
water, and the wind,
stirs up the deep,
nutrient-laded water.

Now -
nearing the surface,
the warmed water
nurtures a bloom
of new life.

The profusion of life
feeds the soul.

Being alive . . .
is always to be open
to being warmed
and stirred.

It is good to be open
to the light.

Stay open to seasons
of new creativity.


Inspiration for this poem
arrived during a morning
meditation on the day
following the Winter Solstice
of 2005.

OUR LIVES BEGIN TO END

Our lives begin
   to end
      the day 
         we become silent
   about
      things that matter.
                                       MLK, Jr.


I will never ever forget
walking just behind MLK
in the March on Washington.
                       -Clem Nagel