A Singular Lack of Silence
Sometimes it happens.
The brain churns out doggerel.
It couldn’t really be helped, especially since it was produced by the wry mood I often have about life here in these very rural parts: a pasture full of cows across a dirt road (see photo above), a barn with chickens and now a couple of heifers next door, coyotes at night—always. And the little bug sounds that become nearly deafening by summer’s end. Usually I succeed (more or less) in seeing how lovely it is; but sometimes the sheer volume of it all becomes its most noticeable feature.
Hence this poem.
Peace and Quiet of…
Of the owl
In the evening,
The shriek of the cock at the dawn,
The chatter of frogs and of locusts
Goes on; it goes on and on.
Does not cease
In the country,
Make love or make war as you will,
But the quiet they boast of—I wonder;
In summer here nothing is still.
On the other hand, there are always the little moments that make up so much of life:
Haiku at Night
High above a single tree ~
Sky washed in grey light