The Squirrel

Often among the uncut summer fields

I see this backwards facing furry

question mark (although sometimes it is facing correctly)

wafting along with the bowing grasses.

The question mark emerges like a submarine

from the ocean of grass, like a sharks fin submerging

only to been discovered rising awfully close to where I am.

Sometimes the squirrel sits up, paws in prayer

or holding a nut he’s discovered (maybe he’s a she,

I can’t identify squirrel gender).

Then after the rising, he (or she) disappears again

making his way beneath the emerald grass ocean, stealthily

discovering lunch (or maybe an early supper if he

is older, a member of the geriatric crowd).

Whenever I see that question mark above the

fields, it makes me contemplate,

reminded of the many lives below

visibility, barely noticed, making their way through

life unnoticed, unrecognized, living life

not wondering what life means.







Richard W. Smith

June 3, 2011

My Local Library

Every day or so

I sit by a tall window in our

local library; same seat,

same scene.

Three large evergreens,

grass below,

plenty of robins

squirrels, geese,

ducks, sparrows

and of course

pedestrians, as well as

cars squealing

stopping at the mailbox.

Today

the raindrops slid

down the glass

highlighting the

trees

as though

they had been painted

by an impressionist;

soft, quick dark strokes,

on a glass canvass

highlight with grey

background, white drifting

clouds causing

those forever

trees to be

outlined in beauty.

For this particular

reason

I am grateful to be alive;

my spirit sings

my heart shed tears of joy

seeing this portion of

creation, feeling these

feelings and to

once again

sense that mystery

beneath all life.

Today I’m thankful

for the “living

of these days.”



























Richard W. Smith

April 26, 2011

Rowing For Home

Early morning my grandfather would

disappear into darkness

oars in locks

wooden boat scraping the salted

rocks as he made his way into the

Atlantic alongside old Plymouth

(as did some of his Pilgrim forefathers & mothers)

Rocking upon waves

baiting hooks for flounder, deep in the still

shady ocean, that

dark mystery holding plenty of surprises,

maybe a gift.

I spied on him from our cottage

attic which looks out over

wooden stairs,

leading downward to a

rocky seashore covered with

the flickering sunrise,

orange and gold,

as old Sol awoke.

Before breakfast the sound of oars and rusted locks

pulsing against a wooden boat

Sounded the news, “Grandpa’s back.”

I’d run to the cliffs overlooking the shore

alongside the wooden stairs

waving, and watching him drag his

boat across the sand,

reaching in and pulling a string of

flatfish all waiting to be cleaned,

cooked, and served for breakfast.

I never did fish in the Atlantic or own a

wooden rowboat. But I do rise early before the sunrise!

I go to an ocean of sorts, one old Freud

reminded us about, and in that ocean there is deep darkness

and mystery, sometimes there’s a gift-

sometimes the whale from the rugged depths surfaces

changing lives, revealing something of itself to a

fortunate observer who, notwithstanding the beauty, holds

this event close. So my boat is not wooden,

but I float on a sea of pages, ideas, relationships,

and beauty. Sometimes I make my way in that sea with memory,

and soft reflections. A few days my grandson even

hears me rowing for home, coming back

from a morning’s journey.

May 4, 2011

The Lost Mate

Along the roadside

overgrown grass, green

carpeted with discarded dots;

soda cans, McDonalds hamburger wrappers

lots of other windblown trash

she sits

as though incubating a new life.

She looks constantly about

this lone goose, an alien from Canada

having plenty of relatives dotting

the landscape

familiar sights

nuisances

to lawns, golf courses,

frequent crossing against

local traffic,

they’re often injured, killed

by impatient drivers off to work, to shop, or

home. She sits alone

waiting. I’ve passed her for the

last month seeing her patience

as she waits in the same spot he

left her. She waits for this

lifelong mate to return. How does it

feel, the waiting? The loneliness?

What hope could possibly feed the vigilance?

How long does it take before one

gives up the vigil and concludes he

never will return?

Cab she ever imagine a new

plan for her life?

Could she be courageous enough to

Move-geographically, emotionally?

I wonder if there are other geese who

Stop by to give encouragement, some giving

Reports of shared sightings of the lost mate?

Simple irritating goose

Along the roadside

Raising so many life issues, speaking

Deeply to human hearts a prophetic

Questioning word from the creator.





Richard W Smith

April 18, 2011

The Surprise

The wooded path

softly curved and

led around corners

among trees

all the time a

gentle puff of breeze

swayed the grass

and caused the flowers

fragrance to infect the

air, the vacuum of silence, as we

walked lightly and

then we turned

one more corner.

A startled speckled

fawn looked up from

her breakfast amazed to

see these alien creatures

her large brown eyes darting

from face to face

trying to make sense

of her revelation. She

decided after the silent moment

maybe it’s time

to leave and swiftly glided

through the woods and bushes off

the pathway and back

to home and safety.

So it happens to each of us

All the time- serendipity

and then, in our minds,

back to safety!



Richard W Smith

April 21, 2011

The Fragrance of the Divine Presence

I missed again…

proven by the empty room;

hollow sounding, nothing but a

fragrance

hinting at the Divine’s

lingering presence, the

odor of the depths,

silences, darkness, the

unknown life-

a tease for me to continue

on to the next room-

exploring creation’s house

room by room if need be

pursuing the elusive

shy center of reality known

only by absence, felt only by

breezes and rain, heard only by

whispers and echoes, seen only by

darkness’s light, a sideways glance.

No footsteps reverberate, no

footprints impression, no

tossed jacket over a

scrapping chair-

only a table holds reminders

of hope, anticipations,

urges, magnetic lines embracing

and encompassing us,

(although breaking free is easy)

Moving quickly day to day

covered by daylight and

moonlight-scampering for a

glance of fabric, a hint of color

to clinch this hunch that One

is over all and within all and

around all pressing, inviting

energizing and holding

lovely life.



Richard W Smith,
April 18, 2011

Robin in the Way

Friday morning I was walking our dog, Big Mac, as I have been doing each morning for nearly twelve years.  Mac is a Westie (his picture's on this blog home page).  As we crossed the nieghborhood street going towards the tiny local stream I noticed a lot of Robins. 
Some Robins were in a tree, maybe a dozen of them, some were walking along the grass beneath the tree, and then there was one standing in the middle of the sidewalk.  These birds were well fed and loud.
Mac was busy sniffing and not payng much attention to the birds.  But I was attracted to this one Robin who stayed in the center of the sidewalk.  The bord looked right up at me, almost trying to stare me down.  I decided he/she would probably fly off when I got a little closer.  Which the Robin didn't do.  The bird stood his/her ground and watched me closely, almost defiantly.  Mac still didn't notice anything.
As I came up to him I flinched  (like in a game of Chicken) and the Robin stood still while I walked around him/her on the grass and Mac continued, unawares, in hsi scenting project for the morning.  I looked back in a few feet and there was the Robin, turned around, eyes glued to my back (now front).  I'm guessing this bird was the leader of the flock!!!