Writing Out Loud


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Strange this thing that trees do in autumn

rejecting leaves,

sending them to their deaths,

the wind not entirely blameless,

teasing, flirting,

showing no mercy.

You die that I may live,

says the tree

as the leaves acquiesce,

catching what light they can

on their downward journey,

dazzling us with their grief.


Hungry for blue skies
broken only by tree tops
birds and clouds I
take what I can of it
outlining eaves
and chimneys
and looking out at me
from children’s eyes.


Even here you wait and watch.

I can’t see your wondrous head turning

or your Persian-cat eyes fixing on prey

or some other interesting thing,

but I hear you.

You called last week just before dawn

from somewhere beyond the morning-still street

from the pines perhaps. That’s high up enough for your kind

who have short shrift for earthbound things

preferring the celestial.

There were two of you out there in the pre-dawn stillness

when shadows still rule before sunlight intrudes

and sends nocturnal things running for cover,

two of you hooting back and forth for a moment

or two

I’m not sure.

The traffic drowned you out,

infernally necessary human thing

that makes no time for owls

and their conversations, slough over your syllables

and ideas, rob me of them.

But I heard you.

I heard you.



Author: raelove1950

I've been writing personally and professionally for over 40 years, and recently started writing books for Amazon Kindle. During the last 25 years, I have also written for the Journal Tribune in Biddeford, Maine; the Maine Sunday Telegram in Portland, Maine; Current Publishing in Westbrook, Maine; and the Reporter, a weekly newspaper based in Waterboro, Maine. I recently released a book entitled "From the Urban Wilderness: Life in the Southern Maine Woods," which is a collection of essays taken from a weekly column I wrote for the Journal Tribune from 2010 to 2016. It is available from Amazon.com and CreateSpaceStore.com .

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