Posts Tagged ‘pencil drawing’
autumn along the brook
Behind our house, in the grey woods, is a narrow little brook. It is not much to look at but I like its simplicity. This brook has steep sides (a cross-section like a ‘U’) and grassy banks, and it creates charming little riffles over fallen logs. Until this moment, I have never realised … we have not given this brook a name!
I walked to the brook last Monday evening, to see how high the water was and to look for signs of the changing season.
Autumn is showing its color everywhere. Some of the ferns have turned yellow with the first frost…
There are fallen red maple leaves on the trail and in the brook…
And the berries of Bunchberry (Cornus canadensis L.) are brilliant red…
- ‘red berries’
end of summer
~
on the path along the brook
one leaf bleeds into water
in town the walks are stony
chaff of linden, seeds
dry ditches overflow with flowers
~
I shrug
(no matter
summer is ended)
~
yellow rattle
pods and grasses
rehearse an incantation
wind sulks in corners of the shed
warmth and sun
paint the orange of pumpkins
knit winter mittens
~
I gather signs of autumn
asters, windfalls, flocks of red wings
frantic in the alders
acorns, hollow galls from oak
~
Orion peeks above the trees
time forgotten, found
and summer with rain never ends
~
I ask for rain
(arms loaded with everlasting)
~
© Jane Tims 2010
'oak leaves and acorns'
in the apple tree
How many hours did I read in the apple tree in my grandfather’s orchard?
At least a couple of hours every day were spent lost in a book.
I was ten or so and my reading was relatively simple – Nancy Drew, Anne of Green Gables, Blue Castle, animal stories by Thorton W. Burgess , and books about a young adventurer named Madge Morton. Most of these were books my Mom had given me, and a few were borrowed from my aunt’s summer house. Have a look at ‘books about natural spaces’ to see some of my favorites. Are you old enough to remember some of them?
The search for a comfortable place to read has often eluded me. Today I read at my desk or in the car. Anything more soothing and I fall asleep, in spite of the quality of the read.
Where is your favorite place to read a book?
reading in the orchard
~
comfortable limb of
apple tree, how many
books read in the days of
summer, mysteries, tales of
plucky girls, animals personified, sunlight
and apple-shadows highlight words
sentences and paragraphs read at
a glance, breezes turning pages
faster than I read, solve
the crime, blood as red as apples
creaky doors and creepy windows
branches rub together somewhere in
the orchard, forget to go in
for supper, my mother’s voice written into
story, calling
~
© Jane Tims 2011
under the haystack
In our area, late summer is haymaking time. During the past two weeks, almost every field has been at some stage of mowing, bailing, or gathering. Farmers tried to bring their hay in before the August 28 tropical storm (Hurricane Irene), so most fields are now cut and cleared.
Haymaking is a picturesque activity. The cut hay is formed into parallel windrows in the fields, an artist’s lesson in perspective. The cutting and bailing and drying of hay are all fascinating to watch.
In the 1960s, at my grandfather’s farm, hay was gathered loose into a horse-drawn hay wagon and stored unbailed in the barn. One summer, I was thrilled to be asked to help ‘tramp hay’. As the fluffy hay was forked into the wagon, our work was to compress it by rolling and stomping and jumping.
Haying methods have changed, of course. Collecting loose hay is almost non-existent. Even the smaller square bails are hard to find. The most common are the cylindrical ‘round’ bails or the white plastic-wrapped silage bails.
The round bails look like plump shredded wheat…
and the silage bails are giant marshmallows.
At sunset, the shadows of the round bails make musical half notes on the fields.
'half notes'
Summer Song
~
Sunbury County
sings in its sleep
purple vetch
hop clover
bluegrass
at the roadside
~
hay in rows
a staff
empty of song
awaiting
round bails and their shadows
half notes for an oboe
~
honey bee
ditty in the pink and red-hipped
old fashioned roses
bid country roads
enter the covered bridge
glimpses between planking
rock music on the water
tires drum on loose boards
~
deer look up
cattle low in the meadow
owl to whitethroat
counterpoint
goldenrod pollens the air
rushes by the Rusagonis River
north and south
~
over Sunpoke
big moon crescendo
~
trembles of aspen
diminish
~
Published as: Spring 1995, “Summer Song”, The Cormorant XI (2)
(revised)
© Jane Tims
nichepoetryandprose 