Life With Horace

poetry & essays

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remnant treasures

they are lanterns
in approaching dark,
glowing shocks
of gold or bronze
out in our woods
where ferns lie routed,
wildflower remnants gone,
sucked back into earth
preparing for its sleep

lithe, lit from within
when seen up close,
winglike branches reach
in gently gilded layers,
some will hold this pose
their clinging leaves an echo,
sentries through the winter,
witness to the memory of green,
beautiful in snow

color is now left to the beeches here. they are having a spectacular season.

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a haiku for ravens

thuggish calls in flight
swift and dangerous patrols
small creatures tremble

we have ravens here, not crows. they rumble through, sweeping over the arm of Monadnock, always on the lookout. our feeders are sheltered in the lea of lilacs, canopied by a long suffering apple tree. when the ravens come, our small birds and chipmunks hesitate but do not run.