The Beaver Pond
in October
Open are the pond’s bright spaces,
brown and withering are the reeds.
Clouds float in the pond’s dark mirror.
Small islands of grass seed
where underwater logs have clogged
and rotted themselves back into life.
Around us, emptiness, empty nests,
earth and its waters waiting for what
strange second coming?
Leaves,
like footprints, delicate on the water,
their pale green tongues lapping
towards the land and everywhere
the low light bright against stripped
white branches.
That lone mast standing still,
gift-wrapped this bouquet of grass
and cloud-enhanced,
magic, these sun
rays,
this October light,
descending.
rogermoorepoet 
Strange second coming, I like that.
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It’s a re-take on Yeats, I think. Someone, anyway. It’s hard to believe, some years, that summer will actually be back. Even worse to think of the winter snow that is always just around the corner, here in Canada.
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It just rains here all year round. Slouching towards Bethlehem.
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I thought it was towards Belfast!
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I live in Ireland but not far from the border. It always rains
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… unless it pours. One of my aunties used to live in Portadown. We visited them, in the fifties, well before the troubles. They were transferred in and transferred out again, very quickly. I don’t remember much about it.
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Well it has settled down… until Brexit which might be a bit of bother again
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Brexit is a real kettle of fish (red herrings, mainly, and some kippered smelts). I find it hard, at this distance, to differentiate between truth and fiction, falsehood and fact. Same with the USA election, another Brexit, according to Trump. Very disturbing and quite surreal!
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The re emergence of the right. The pound is in melt down, Scotland and Northern Ireland votes to remain. The return of a hard border? When Ian Parsley Jnr is telling his constituents to get Irish passports then it really is surreal.
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Same thing over here: and it is a hard and very emotional right. No arguments … take no prisoners … Love your Munch paintings re-blogged on Meg’s blob … I will do some (L) imitations …
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I for one do not look back at the Rule Brittanica days as some lost golden age, I think it was an ignominious stain on humanity. The irony is that the brits invaded pretty much every country in the globe and now we are pissed off when everyone followed us home.
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There were many reasons why I traveled widely and why I emigrated. Alas, there are many tarnished pasts and many controversial issues in that past. Like snails, we carry a houseful of our own and other people’s calamities on our backs.
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True, I agree with Dr Johnson, patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel
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Patriotism: I coached Atlantic Canada vs Welsh (rugby), cried when I heard the national anthems, and never saw the first half of the game through the tears! I gave up coaching shortly afterwards.
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Love for one’s country is a fine and natural emotion, however the flag draping and superior patriotism of trump and some of the Brexiters i find dangerous.
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http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace / Behind the wagon that we flung him in, / And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, / His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin; / If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood / Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, / Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud / Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, / My friend, you would not tell with such high zest / To children ardent for some desperate glory, / The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.
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Very true
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Beautiful picture and words to go with it. I love seeing those rays of light beaming down onto the surface of the water. It reminded me of the large, cattail lined pond we had on our old property.
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That’s the great thing about the verbal and the visual: they trigger our own memories as well as creating new impressions. Our wold needs art and artists: without them, we are so impoverished.
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Absolutely. When our senses are stirred, our souls sometimes follow, in good ways, I think.
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I love this! For some strange reason I love the late fall, even with its desolation and decay. The harbinger of winter hibernation and snow and firelight, I suppose. Beautiful, Roger!
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Thanks, Meg. I was thinking of posting two photos, one of the open, brown-tinged spaces and the other of the light descending. This was one of those photos where I didn’t see the light until I got home and put the photo on the computer. A moment of magic and a minor miracle!
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Love when that happens. And I’m so happy I’m back in your comments again. All is right in the world!
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Has the mailman / postman come knocking on your door yet? He should be there soon. Let me know when he arrives.
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Hooray! The mail comes after 2 pm here. But I’ll let you know as soon as it does. Thank you again!
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