Bluegills

gray scale photo of trees on snow

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Bluegills

We bought two cardboard containers packed with 15 or 20 corn bores covered in loose black muck, at a farm five miles from town before turning off the black top then, another three miles along a gravel road, snow plowed high on both sides, past farmers fields barely visible stretched white to the gray horizon, snow tornados rising and falling then rising and falling again and again.

We parked next to a mountain of snow plowed higher than the car.  Hidden from sight, a frozen desert of ice where we fished on an inland lake the shoreline a hundred yards from where we parked.

Through knee deep snow the Arctic wind gusting 25-30 mph against our backs we dragged our plywood ‘fish boxes’ to the shoreline then another quarter mile across the slippery surface to a place where Deac chopped five holes through the two foot thick ice,  using a heavy iron spud rounded at one end, a leather strap at the other wrapped around his wrist so as to keep it from slipping into the black water when punched through the the last few inches of ice.

We spent the rest of the day fishing for bluegills or pike watching for the slightest movement of our bobbers, scooping films of ice that formed over the exposed water every few minutes, moving from hole to hole, watching for the red flags of our ‘tip ups’, sitting on our ‘fish boxes’, staring downward, hunched aerodynamically against the icy cold wind flowing over our backs.

You could hear the ice thunder and moan menacingly like an angry bear, as it grew thicker; ripping sounds heard in the distance or nearby, crackling for seconds at a time; jagged points of iced lightening suddenly etching close to where we sat, sending shivers of fear through me that the ice would open its jaws swallowing us into the inky black depths below, where not even the slightest ray of light could escape.

Toward the end of day, the sun a vague halo of yellowish white against a dreary gray sky, we packed the poles and tip ups into our fish boxes, 20 or 30 bluegills frozen stiff at the bottom.

Faced downward, pushing against the north wind, my toes and the tips of my fingers frozen numb, my face burning, we trekked toward the shoreline, through thigh deep powdered snow, over the mountain, returning to the warmth of the car.

We drove through the dimming light of late afternoon into the dark sky of mid winter’s early evening night, arriving home just in time for dinner.

Serenity

 

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung

and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant

on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things

i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago

floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen

within air that was
mine to breathe

while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing

stripped bare of
all distractions;

Air that I’ve shared
with no one

now,

that I share with all
the little things

that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,

air i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!

Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange

when trees released
their bed covers

to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness

within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time

to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return

to free the life within
those amber spaces

not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water,

released by whiter light!
These creatures that

surround me now
within my sight!

that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my

SERENITY! !c

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung

and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant

on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things

i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago

floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen

within air that was
mine to breathe

while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing

stripped bare of
all distractions;

Air that I’ve shared
with no one

now,

that I share with all
the little things

that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,

air i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!

Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange

when trees released
their bed covers

to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness

within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time

to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return

to free the life within
those amber spaces

not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water,

released by whiter light!
These creatures that

surround me now
within my sight!

that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my

SERENITY! !

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung

and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant

on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things

i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago

floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen

within air that was
mine to breathe

while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing

stripped bare of
all distractions;

Air that I’ve shared
with no one

now,

that I share with all
the little things

that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,

air i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!

Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange

when trees released
their bed covers

to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness

within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time

to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return

to free the life within
those amber spaces

not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water,

released by whiter light!
These creatures that

surround me now
within my sight!

that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my

SERENITY! !

Bluegills

Bluegills

We bought two cardboard containers packed with 15 or 20 corn bores covered in loose black muck, at a farm five miles from town before turning off the black top then, another three miles along a gravel road, snow plowed high on both sides, past farmers fields barely visible stretched white to the gray horizon, snow tornados rising and falling then rising and falling again and again.

We parked next to a mountain of snow plowed higher than the car. Hidden from sight, a frozen desert of ice where we fished on an inland lake the shoreline a hundred yards from where we parked.

Through knee deep snow the Arctic wind gusting 25-30 mph against our backs we dragged our plywood ‘fish boxes’ to the shoreline then another quarter mile across the slippery surface.

Dad chopped five holes through the two foot thick ice using a heavy iron spud rounded at one end, a leather strap at the other wrapped around his wrist so as to keep it from slipping into the black water when punched through the the last few inches of ice.

We spent the rest of the day fishing for bluegills or pike watching for the slightest movement of our bobbers, scooping films of ice that formed over the exposed water every few minutes, moving from hole to hole, watching for the red flags of our ‘tip ups’, sitting on our ‘fish boxes’, staring downward, hunched aerodynamically against the icy cold wind flowing over our backs.

You could hear the ice thunder and moan menacingly like an angry bear, as it grew thicker; ripping sounds heard in the distance or nearby, crackling for seconds at a time; jagged points of iced lightening suddenly etching close to where we sat, sending shivers of fear through me that the ice would open its jaws swallowing us into the inky black depths below, where not even the slightest ray of light could escape.

Toward the end of day, the sun a vague halo of yellowish white against a dreary gray sky, we packed the poles and tip ups into our fish boxes, 20 or 30 bluegills frozen stiff at the bottom.

Faced downward, pushing against the north wind, my toes and the tips of my fingers frozen numb, my face burning, we trekked toward the shoreline, through thigh deep powdered snow, over the mountain, returning to the warmth of the car.

We drove through the dimming light of late afternoon into the dark sky of mid winter’s early evening night, arriving home just in time for dinner.

Savoring the Melt

Snow covering the ground at 8 by 1 had

disappeared.

By 5 newly formed powder flakes/bigger than cotton balls/floated downward, /so light they rose and fell a second time/as I passed /turning my world white

once again

crystal flakes given form/from clouds high above/each its own and unique world/alive within the tiny gales/and silent currents forming/atmospheres above, 

given

gentle revolution, softest landing covering ground/like thin gauze stretched/within minutes inches deep/earth tones and/ green luminescence vaguely visible

beneath.

Above, afternoon sky darkening /moves toward night time light.  

Already giving their precious gift, the gauze stretched thinner/

shadows of color emerging from the

melt.

 

 

Slice of American Pie: A Christmas Story

A Christmas Story

Don’t you think those unexpected, unique events that sometimes occur during Christmas are presents more memorable than any single gift received?

Memories are more powerful because, unlike the new bicycle or the baseball glove or even that favorite new pair of ice skates that have long turned to dust, they can be dusted off, relived and shared with family and friends year after year.

“An Unexpected Guest; High Jinks and Hilarity”

Like the year we gathered an aunt and uncle, cousins and grandparents at our house one Christmas Eve the air outside crisp and cold, the sky crystal clear, snow the size of fat cotton balls falling on a soft white blanket sparkling like diamonds each flake reflecting a different star (or so our ten year old minds thought), when my grandfather, who worked for the Grand Trunk Railroad brought a lady to our house from Canada, who had become stranded at the big depot due to heavy snow, to join us for our Christmas Eve celebration.

The addition of a stranger in our house added an air of excitement to the gathering. We treated her like an honored guest.

Knowing the rules would be more lax in her presence, we gave little effort toward restraining our laughter and sense of mirth reveling in the joy we created as our Christmas gift for her.

I can still see her sitting in the blue ‘Naugahyde’ chair next to the fireplace her head thrown back, mouth open wide laughing along with all of us when Uncle Bill lost his balance and fell while bouncing around on a pogo stick in the middle of the living room floor knocking over a lamp then rolling onto the lampshade.

“Up In Flames”

That was the same year several of my cousin’s gifts like pajamas and other girly things, were accidentally gathered together with the gift wrappings, thrown into the fireplace and burned.

Everyone was sympathetic while she cried. My brother and I thought it was hilarious.

continued …

Three Musets

Three Quarter Seasons

spring time
trees grow green leaves
new life

bright sun
great days to swim
much fun !

snow days
light wings falling
skies gray

Winter’s Warmth

great lake
frozen water
skating

fire warm
skaters gathered
popcorn!

days end
hands held walking
best friends

Trout Stream Camp

cool stream
flowing gently
light dreams

shadows
sun dapples leaves
wind blows

sunlight
slowly falling
star shine …

 

Stolen Serenity

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung
and i knew because

i saw a fly and a bull ant
on the floor by the fireplace
and a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things
i can’t imagine

sharing air that a week ago
floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity;

between the flakes
air that was mine to breathe
while witnessing the beauty

of each and every living thing
stripped bare of all distractions that

Now …

I share with all the little things
that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding lines of intersection
between their search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside air i’ve been breathing

ALONE

i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now
i do not use that word lightly

stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings lived within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange
when trees released

their bed covers
to darker still intensity

captured by cold stillness
within their sleeping spaces

during gestation’s time
to lie in wait, for

warmer sun’s returns
to free the life within

those amber spaces.

Not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water

Released by whiter light!

These creatures that

surround me now!

within my sight!

that feed upon my light!

that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!

my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion!

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my SERENITY! !

They’ve Stolen My Serenity

They’ve Stolen My Serenity

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung
and i knew because

i saw a fly and a bull ant
on the floor by the fireplace
and a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things
i can’t imagine

sharing air that a week ago
floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity;

between the flakes
air that was mine to breathe
while witnessing the beauty

of each and every living thing
stripped bare of all distractions that

Now …

I share with all the little things
that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding lines of intersection
between their search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside air i’ve been breathing

ALONE

i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now
i do not use that word lightly

stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings lived within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange
when trees released

their bed covers
to darker still intensity

captured by cold stillness
within their sleeping spaces

during gestation’s time
to lie in wait, for

warmer sun’s returns
to free the life within

those amber spaces.

Not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water

Released by whiter light!

These creatures that

surround me now!

within my sight!

that feed upon my light!

that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!

my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion!

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my SERENITY! !

Bluegills

We bought two cardboard containers packed with 15 or 20 corn bores covered in loose black muck, at a farm five miles from where we turned off the black top, then another three miles along a gravel road, snow plowed high on both sides, past farmers fields barely visible stretched white to the gray horizon line, snow tornados rising and falling then rising and falling again and again.

We parked next to a mountain of snow plowed higher than the car. Hidden from sight a frozen desert of ice where, we fished on an inland lake the shoreline a hundred yards from where we parked.

Through knee deep snow the Arctic wind gusting 25-30 mph against our backs we dragged our plywood ‘fish boxes’ to the shoreline then another quarter mile across the slippery surface.

He chopped five holes through the two foot thick ice (careful to angle each larger at the bottom so as not to be funnel shaped, impossible to pull a fish through) using a heavy iron spud rounded at one end, a leather strap at the other wrapped around his wrist to keep it from slipping into the black water when punched through the the last few inches of ice.

We spent the rest of the day fishing for bluegills, watching for the slightest movement of our bobbers, scooping films of ice that formed over the exposed water every few minutes, moving from hole to hole, watching for the red flags of our ‘tip ups’, sitting on our ‘fish boxes’, staring downward, hunched aerodynamically against the icy cold wind flowing over our backs.

You could hear the ice thunder and moan menacingly like an angry bear, as it grew thicker, ripping sounds heard in the distance or nearby, crackling for seconds at a time, jagged points of iced lightening suddenly etched close to where we sat, sending shivers of fear through me that the ice would open its jaws and swallow us into the inky black depths where not even the slightest ray of light could possibly exist.

Toward the end of day, the sun a vague halo of yellowish white against a dreary gray sky, we packed the poles and tip ups into our fish boxes, 20 or 30 bluegills frozen stiff at the bottom.

Faced downward, pushing against the north wind my toes and the tips of my fingers frozen numb, my face burning we trekked toward the shoreline, through thigh deep powdered snow, over the mountain, returning to the warmth of the car.

We drove through the dimming light of late afternoon into the dark sky of mid winter’s early evening night, arriving home just in time for dinner.

Wind/Travel/Time/Serenity/End

 

images-1

Imagine ….

It’s a frigid early winter

day …

no snow on the

ground trees bare of

leaves …

fingers and

limbs black against a dismal

gray

sky …

…..

you are on a bicycle

barreling down a black top

road pushed by a

powerful western

wind …

you are the only object

static ..

in your world of

movement …

…..

the road a black

ribbon

disappears beneath spinning

wheels …

boulders submerged among

giant elms separating fallow

fields of broken

corn stalks, plow lines

extending into the

distance …

approach …..

run parallel …..

then

disappear into the

void …

…..

reality pure …

unencumbered by

thoughts and words

appears

tiny …

distant …

then

looms

larger and

larger … forming

funnels of

sustained

color, form, size and

movement …

…..

You are experiencing

Life

within a

river of

flowing awareness …

on a frigid early winter

day ….

…..

Your world

framed

against trees bare of

leaves …

fingers and limbs

black

reaching into a dismal

gray

sky …

You are

IN

wind … where

there IS no

wind …

…..

IN wind

there is no

sound …

there is only

SILENCE;

AIR;

SILENT AIR

and SIGHT with

heart and breath

combined …

the sound of your

SERENITY …

…..

Yet

you are moving

faster through a world of

silent magic river flowing

sight …

while …

… IN the wind is only silence the

sound of your serenity pulling

you

further through

space …

…..

The spinning road

beneath you

flies the tape that

measures growing

shorter;

distance measures

time … the road

consumed

yet …

IN the wind is only silence the

sound of your serenity pulling you

further

further into

time …

the road that has an

end in time the

point of no

return

the

thread keeps growing

shorter

the fear within you

growing larger

yet …

…..

… IN the wind there is only

silence the

sound of your

serenity

pulling

further pulling

you

into space

the

end …

the

point of no

return …

…..

your comfort dream is

ending

fear is taking

place …

the turning point upon

you

the dream within

the

river flowing

sight

your

serenity drawing

closer …

the time is

right …

yet

IN the wind there

is only …..

your

serenity

but

now …

IT IS TOO LATE … !!

the end is HERE …


Outdoors Always Works For Me

 images-1

Outdoors always works for me.

Lake gazing
lost in time
thoughts grow still
cease to ‘gzist.

Spellbound movement
roiling calm
trees and wind at play
taking weight away
from heavy snow.  

Blowing fallen colors
taking broken limbs
willing partners
grateful lovers
always playing.  

Northern breezes bring winter winds and storms/snow that swarms and lives in crystalline form/black and white vistas/endless vistas of black and white.  

Warmth brings
southern breezes.

Leaves whispering
wind’s return
forming perfect union
rising falling
sex collusion
seminal fluid
carrying seeds
blown everywhere
growing life
exploding … !

Watching wind and trees
their spellbinding movement,
their night time sighs form
perfect union.

Watching wind and trees
I see giving, always giving.

Giving trees with the
breeze giving with
the breeze …

Outdoors always works for me.

Snowfall

images-5

I love when it snows in big cities/forcing people to stay inside/with their families, significant other or self/away from the noise and forced hustle and bustle of everyday life.

I love to go outside after snow falls/and see the world coated white.

The forms of life and its manifestations turned smooth,  curved,  soft.

And so clean!

At night the snow world sparkles/especially during full, half or quarter moons/or from the connection between the stars on a crystal clear night/their light beams sharing more than you can possibly imagine!

Snow acoustics are the best!

Inside the silence of freshly fallen snow/all distractions melt away /and the soft sounds of your true self become evident.

Freshly fallen snow gives back precious remembrance of time past/when visions and forgotten feelings emerge and are seen anew/stripped bare of all non-essentials.

 Like an epic story told with few words.

Or reality seen through a prism of crystal clear ice.

Snow

Unknown-2

I love it when snow

falls

in big cities

forcing people to

stay inside

with their

families or significant other or

self …

…..

away from the

noise and forced hustle and

bustle

of

everyday

life …

…..

I love to go

outside

after snow falls and see the

world

coated white

the

forms of

life

and it’s

manifestations

turned

smooth, curved, soft

and

so clean … !

…..

at night the

snow world

sparkles … !!

especially during

full,

half

or

quarter moons

or

from the connection of a

sparkling night sky, their

light beams

sharing more than you can

possibly

imagine … !

…..

snow acoustics are the

best … !

…..

inside the silence

of

freshly fallen snow

all

distractions

melt away and the

soft sounds of

our

true selves

become

evident …

…..

freshly fallen snow gives back

precious remembrance

of

time past

when

visions and forgotten feelings

emerge

and are seen

anew … !

stripped bare

of all

non-essentials …

like an

epic story told with

few words …

or …

reality

seen through a prism of

crystal clear

ice …

Song For Jodi .. The World Beyond My Curtain Soft White, A Sight To See

DSC_0124

The air is white outside my curtain

dime sized light wings, drift down

land softly on crystalline water.

Another new world has emerged today

a black and white dichotomy

a world easier to see;

the truth of pure beauty …

the only thoughts available are words i cannot speak …

it can be like that sometimes on a soft, white snowy day … if only You could see …..