It’s like an old friend
This dirt road,
I could drive it
With my eyes closed
Following the lacy shadows
Of trees behind my eyelids,
A jigsaw of light and dark
The air cooling at the dip
Of the downward hill
Where the road narrows
And bends sharply
At the luminous lake
Sparkling like stars on silk
In the blue breeze stirring
Velvet layers of green
More felt than ever seen,
It’s here that the road ends
At the bubbling creek tumbling
Over stones like liquid laughter
Where the songbirds call out
The names of old friends.
By CJ Clark
CJ Clark is an artist, fiction author and poet. Recent poetry publications include Verse-Virtual poetry journal, I Have a Name (3 poems)-Creative Talents Unleashed and Harbinger Asylum-Needles Clacking. See her art and novels at cjclarkartist.com.
Photo by linux87.
In branches of an apple tree there is a rustling, then a thud as an apple hits
the ground. Two pale yellow-green leaves follow it, spinning on their own slow
fall. A dragonfly circles and dives above a sea of golden rod. A lone cricket
chirps. All else is still.
It’s as if the world doesn’t notice that the apple has undergone a profound
change. It is no longer a growing, ripening fruit suspended in the air. On the
ground it will rot. Its dark seeds will contact the earth.
Now it has the possibility of becoming a tree.
By John Jacobson
John Jacobson lives and writes in the Catskill Mountains of New York. His writing has appeared in Kaatskill Life magazine and Mid Atlantic Fly Fishing Guide. He is working on a memoir about caregiving and nature.
Photo by Patrick Kaiser
Smallest of flames — a spark.
Globs of white crystallized water
cling to spruce needles before
bowing to pressure in the only
direction worth mentioning.
existence, or not.
Next to something peaceful,
By Brandon Earl MacLeod
Brandon Earl MacLeod is a poet, photographer, and teacher from Cold Lake, Alberta, Canada. He resides in North Spirit Lake, Ontario where he taught journalism with Journalists for Human Rights’ Indigenous Reporters Program and now works with students primarily on literacy and humanities. Born in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, Brandon is of Métis heritage and looks up to his Auntie Connie, a watercolour artist, for inspiration. Spending time outdoors has been something of a healing process and place of discovery and his poem Marie Creek was written among the trees and creeks in the forests of northern Alberta. Much of Brandon’s poetry is written about and while surrounded by the natural world and is available, along with his selected photos and published works, at brandomaclo.tumblr.com.
Photo of snowy creek by Wildman
Autumn grey skies
Draw a curtain
Upon summer’s stage;
An intermission for the parched Earth.
The leaves upon the trees
Rustle in anticipation,
Awaiting the season’s show.
Slowly, the curtain parts.
Drop by drop, the performers arrive,
And the trees give the rain
A standing ovation.
By Hilary Hirtle
Hilary Hirtle is a freelance writer and editor. She is an avid nature enthusiast and environmental activist. She currently resides in Westerville, Ohio, US.
Photo by Nataliya Gromko
boots of black, whetted by rain
forgotten memories left behind
woodpecker tapping upon birch
moss covered granite whispers
deer disappear into fern & pine
partridge drumming in harmony
woodland faeries smiling softly
path covered in rusty wet leaves
gentle breezes calm and serene
the distant call of Canadian geese
echo throughout the distant valley,
a peaceful surrender, enchantingly.
By Ken Allan Dronsfield
Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran and poet. He is a three time nominee for the Pushcart Prize and twice nominated for the Best of the Net. His poems have been published world-wide throughout North and South America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa. Ken’s work can be found in The Burningword Journal, Belle Reve Journal, Blue Heron, The Stray Branch, Naturewriting, Now/Then Manchester Magazine UK, Scarlet Leaf Review, EMBOSS Magazine, and many more. Ken loves life!
Photo by Jose Manuel Gelpi Diaz