Trees, wildflowers, birds,/ bugs, fields. The land teaches me / much. I want to share.
I’m cross-posting these poems in my CyranoWriter.com creative writing blog.
I used to take time to ground, to create, to think, to revel in nature. It wasn’t until I taught others how and why to do it that I realized: I’d stopped. Creativity is life, and I’d let myself die. No more.
Natural yards for the birds, bees and butterflies — and for the pleasure they brings human senses — are nothing new. I personally have created my own natural yard for decades, as has my brother. Where did that inspiration come from? Our forest ranger father, who taught all my siblings that lawns were silly, foolish,…
Old satellite dish,/ turned skyward, filled with water:/ Fine redneck birdbath.
I was shocked to learn / why Southern women dont wear/ nylons: Chiggers itch.