Montana Outdoors

April 9, 2008

Spring evening

Filed under: Montana, Nature, Outdoors, Photos, Pictures, Poetry, Sunsets — Tags: — montucky @ 5:46 pm

As the sun approached the horizon yesterday evening it reminded me one more time that if I had stayed indoors I would not have been able to see it set.

Spring evening

February 24, 2008

A Poet’s Message

Filed under: Inspiration, Nature, Outdoors, Poetry, Winter — Tags: — montucky @ 11:52 pm

Their shadows silent in the dark,
His people’s future dim,
The empty page, white and stark
No words of hope from him.

Then on a breeze, small flakes of white
Lit dimly by a star,
Descended from the dark of night
And settled near, and far.

Upon the dawn the poet’s eye
Awakened by the snow,
Saw scenes from magic days gone by
Of beauty here below.

With fingers stiffened from the cold
He grasped his pen at last,
And on a page in letters bold
Scribed splendor from the past.

Words of wisdom, a phrase of mirth
Of meadows bright with verdant wealth,
The beauty of our Mother Earth
Her bygone days of vibrant health.

Hope kindled once again,
Heart to join the fight anew.
His message to the hearts of men:
“Within the wilderness, renew”.

(Maybe today it is time to consider something that John Muir said over a century ago, that going to wilderness is going home.)

December 10, 2006

The thirteenth goose

Filed under: Canadian goose, Montana, Nature, Outdoors, Poetry, Writing — Tags: , — montucky @ 8:08 pm

Early this morning a flight of Canadian geese could be seen over the river in their familiar ā€œVā€ pattern, but this time something was not right: instead of even pairs, there were only thirteen. These beautiful big birds mate for life, and if one loses its mate, it will usually take another the following year, but seeing an uneven number in a ā€œVā€ during the winter has always held a moment of sadness for me.

So, for the thirteenth goose, this:

The beat of gray wings
on a cold gray sky,
and a space in the “V”
for a time gone by.
Your life-mate is gone
and the winter is long:
there’s a void in your life
and a tear in your song.
I know your sorrow,
or if sorrow’s not known.
the loneliness;
feathered grief of its own.
When the grass next turns green
and the gray sky turns blue,
a new life-mate, then,
is my fain for you.

(I seldom attempt poetry, and I think now the reason for that is obvious.)

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