Imagine the Possibilities

Last week I spent a few days in the mountains with my children and grandchildren. On one of our morning walks I came upon a frog who had recently met his demise. While the vacation was filled with laughter and joy and the collection of memories, my thoughts kept returning to the frog. So I wrote about it.

The Frog That Once Knew

On a morning walk, wonder abounded in
the towering trees,
the gentle lap of the lake,
the sparkling sun.

I was not expecting the frog that once knew
the shade of the trees,
the skin-quenching lake,
the warmth of the sun.

A reminder that there is
no light without dark,
no joy without sorrow,
no victory without defeat.

Molly is hosting today’s Poetry Friday Roundup at Nix the Comfort Zone.

I didn’t intend to write and post a poem today for Poetry Friday. But then I read Margaret Simon’s post, and I was hooked on trying a nestling poem. In it, she reviews Irene Latham’s forthcoming book This Poem Is a Nest, and encourages readers to try out a nestling poem – to read a poem, choose words that call to you, then craft them into a new poem.

So, I opened up a file of poems I love and chose “Midnight Stray” by Rebecca Kai Dotlich. I chose fragile, tattered, whisper, stars, and love. Rebecca’s poem is about a cat, but the word “tattered” reminded me of a quilt.

The Quilt

The quilt,
edged with fading stars,
tattered from years of love,
whispers secrets,
whispers memories,
whispers a reminder
that perhaps,
with proper care,
the world is not so fragile.

Thanks, Margaret, Rebecca, and Irene!

A few weeks ago I found a small blue and brown bird egg on the golf course. Out in the open with no nest nearby, I decided it was lost. Abandoned. For some reason, it didn’t feel right to just leave this marvel there for someone to trample, so I pocketed it. I examine it every day, wondering. Could it have been a red winged blackbird, fearless and free? Would it have struggled for life, but somehow survived? What message does it hold? For me, it’s about potential.

A Small Miracle

A small miracle rests on my desk,
pale blue with splotches of brown.
Lost, then found
on the fairway of hole number five.
All things have a purpose –
if not life, then perhaps truth.
A small miracle rests on my desk,
a reminder of the potential within.

I was a little reluctant to post this since taking something from nature may not always be the best idea. This morning I noticed that the egg is starting to deteriorate, so this afternoon I will bury it in the backyard and return it to nature. Perhaps it will have another purpose in enriching the soil.

Today’s Poetry Friday Roundup can be found here.