Moose

Moose

Who has nailed summer to its autumn cross? Sunbeams dazzle in the wind, footsteps follow, or is it a shadow’s shadow flickering its year’s end dance on a twisting path? Beneath our feet the painted leaves lie still. Bottled sunshine abandoned now in rusted flakes, who will replace them in the tree’s discarded puzzle? Footsteps crackle along the trail and, as they draw closer, our cold breath hangs a question mark on the air before us. Yesterday, the salmon danced on their tails. Lettuces went to seed and built tall pyramids up to the sky in a world all yellow with the sun and blue with the sea. Primrose and bleu céleste, this stretch of Fundy, where the islands are large black beads, threaded together by tiny strings of ducks and geese. Today, going home, a bull moose thrust his head through the windshield of a speeding car. For an instant the trees caught their breath, the air stood still and a red fox tore from the trees like a runaway leaf, so quick, so silent, a shadow across the road melting into dark woods to lie silent in the forest. I can still see the occupants of the shattered car standing by the roadside, their cell phones in their hands, punching urgent numbers. Shock had rounded their snow white lips into an O for Operator.

Very surprised (and pleased and proud) to hear this prose poem from my book Fundy Lines read on Shift, CBC, this afternoon. Here it is in a more permanent form — the written word. Thank you Shift CBC and best wishes to all.

4 thoughts on “Moose

  1. Thanks, Meg. I only turned the radio on by chance and there the poem was. It was a good reading, too. The local CBC station was doing a series on the Bay of Fundy. Very enjoyable. The Fundy is so beautiful.

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  2. Thanks Roger, but I am happy to say I have my own lovely copy in the book you so kindly gave me at the end of the Odd Sundays season. Thank you again, you really are an extraordinarily generous soul.

    A.

    > On July 20, 2016 at 5:42 PM rogermoorepoetdotcom > wrote: > > rogermoorepoet posted: “Moose Who has nailed summer to its autumn cross? > Sunbeams dazzle in the wind, footsteps follow, or is it a shadow’s shadow > flickering its year’s end dance on a twisting path? Beneath our feet the > painted leaves lie still. Bottled sunshine abandoned now i” >

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    • Thank you, A. I am glad you got that copy of Fundy Lines. There are some nice pieces in there. The Fundy is so much like the Gower Peninsula in Wales, and I was born on the Gower / Gwyr (in Welsh). Bottled sunshine: the Spanish definition of good wine …

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