"IT STREAMS FROM THE HILLS..."

 "IT STREAMS FROM THE HILLS..."

  "Thy bountiful care what tongue
        can recite?
     It breathes in the air, it shines
         in the light,
      It streams from the hills it
        descends to the plain,
       And sweetly distills in the
          dew and the rain.
          .....Robert Grant (1779-1838)

A scene of incredible beauty
     on this earth....  duplicated
thousands of times      all over
     our world   by The Creator
as He envelops and enables
    everyone   and everything---
Simplicity and complexity,
    beauty and artistry of
this scene---in the sky, the clouds,
    the mountains, the trees--
even the freshness of the air,
    and the realization  of
His Love for us    is seen and felt
    as the pure mountain water
flows gently along
    over the rocks.
---------
BY MIL
3 MAY 2019
(Photo by Connor,
  Calgary, Canada)

SURPRISED BY MR. SNAIL

It rained the night before

       and I sat at my writing place

          early that fresh spring morning

  pondering a pithy piece   and was

        much engrossed...

  when all of a sudden    on the ornate

             window ledge

  a big fat snail appeared  and of all 

       things there at near eye level...

  It surprised me and who knows

      how  he got that high!

          Why did he do the climb?

  Forgetting what I was about, for 

       I was mesmerized and he had

          only to crawl five feet

  and we'd be eyeballing each other

             and here he came

          crawling along the ledge, toward

               and oblivious of me

   Being somewhat of a poet I began

        to think of meanings and things

            and questions came to mind--

   ---What is a snail's purpose in

          being on earth?

   ---Does he know...does he  wonder?

   ---Is he in a hurry to get it done?

   ---Do snails love and help fellow

          snails?

   ---Do they ever get in a hurry...

          or get high blood pressure?

Then...

   ---Do snails, er, sort of marry and

         have baby snails? 

   ---Did the Creator have committees

         of angels to help design the

           critters of the world?

   ---What's it like to spend half the

          time, buried in cold lawns in

           winter?

   ---And coming out in summer,

         mostly only when it rains?

   ---Snails seem to get sticky---do

          they bathe enough?

   ---Of snails and men--is there any

          similarity?

    When BE refilled my coffee cup

      I never noticed...and being  lost in 

         a sort of reverie---I thought

    to myself: "Maybe tiny creatures

       deserve to be noticed...and

         written about..."

  Then I looked...and saw...and 

     realized...that in that whole time---

        my snail had come...

             only a foot.

--------

By Mil

Art by Karen M.

16 APRIL 19

THE YELLOW DAFFODILS and THE "DAPPLED LIGHT" OF SPRING...

 

That late-in-February date
             it came a light snow
one long cold winter night and the next
   morning (ah!) crocuses  were
             peeking through the snow
in the flower bed    a few days
   later a big beautiful white-wing dove
showed up on the bird grain
    just outside my "writing window"
            and I said to myself:
"Spring is here....once more!"

But then, almost the worst cold wind
    ever seen or known in these
        parts    in late March    came in

  and blew all day and all night---
as if straight from Barrow or the Yukon...
      I put on my heaviest flannel shirt
as fireplace fires permeated the air... and
     retreated to the warm cozy attic
            with a good book   and got under
the bunk quilts (from grandma)

This went on...warm and cold, warm
    and cold,   it seemed like for days
and antsy-early-tomato-growers
         couldn't wait    and planted early
one warmish day   but. the winds blew
    and the  therm hit twenty-eight....

But then... suddenly (it seemed)
    just the other day     weather changes
happened all at once---it was still...
          and warmer...and peaceful...
and a whippoorwill  sang from the pines...
     swallows were seen returning...
my big beautiful white-wing dove
           was back on the grain
outside the window...  white lilacs
   with their unmatched aromas
 permeating the neighborhood...
            Bright yellow dadfodils
were  seen everywhere     and then
     I saw on my writing place,
as the sun rose higher in the sky---
    "The Dappled Light"  and I knew:

Spring is finally here!
--------
MIL
14 April 2019

MOONED AGAIN THIS SPRING...BY THE SAME DOVE

While sitting at my "writing desk"
   the other spring morning
right here beside my "writing window"
    with the soft, gentle light
of an early hour so-soothing coming in...
    and with the stash of bird-grain
hanging barely six feet away---
    I was writing away and waiting
for breakfast with the birds   and
    being quite occupied...

When "Swish, Bang, Boink!!" I tho't
    a big gray chicken had made
a crash landing iinto the window...
    and onto the grain...and there he sat
in all his majesty   but it was one
    of nature's most-beautiful
and miraculous creations  and check--
    not showy or ostentatious  but
a subtle blend of grays and blues
     with a white trim   swept back
along under his wings   streamlined...

Already pecking away, hungry, as if
    he had been out for an early
wake-up flight   and he was a
    chubby one   and paying me,
with my mouth open gaping at him--
    no attention      whatsoever

This fine dove reminded me
    of my last year's dove which
hung out here  and was a sort of
     a bird-friend   until when the
cold came he headed off to S.A.
                  and
the more I studied this one-- I tho't--
    "It could be MY dove!"
from last year, tho' a little older,
    fatter, and maybe wiser..."
But   how did he remember how to
    return here?

Under my breath I murmured:
    "Welcome home my friend,
we left the grain out for ya' "

He must've heard me.  
  and as if he had   he suddenly
turned and gave me a
   friendly moon  and I knew

Yes! It was "our dove!"

He had come back, for one
    more spring!
---------
MIL
6 APRIL 19

"GOODBYE TO ALL THAT," SPRING IS HERE!

It is still cold here 
   in the Rio Grande Valley
not far east of the 
   River itself 

The trees are beginning 
    to "bud out" a bit...
The lawns are turning green...
    Crocuses have bloomed
and can daffodils 
    be far behind?
A robin was seen on the lawn
    searching for a cold worm,
and a few lost summery 
    clouds drift by daily 
when the sun is shining...
    as if trying to catch
up with the cloud crowd...
    wherever it went...

The two ever-quarreling 
    blue jays are back
and can be heard from
    the very tops 
of the pines  which  
    are always green
year -round...

It may be a bit early for 
    the frogs and snails
to come out of the ground,
   and the voice of the
turtles is yet to be heard
   "in our land..."   and 
it has been known 
    to snow    way down
into springtime    
    in these parts...

So it seems like winter 
   was just yesterday
(but it was three days ago)
    and people accuse
The Poet of being 
    "cold-natured" as the 
saying goes and 
    of covering up too much
when it's cold winter-time...

But in reality he stays pretty
    warm all the freezing
days of winter and of life...   
     except for his nose...

People don't really pay 
   much attention to him,
and it's okay   but they 
    oft write, admiring 
his Bear Quilt     and ask

"Where can I get one?"
---------
MIL
THIRD DAY OF SPRING
24 MARCH 19

MEMORIES OF SNAPPING GREEN BEANS

 

Most kids who grew up
   in the thirties and forties
had mothers or grandmothers
   who gardened and
raised their own veggies

and they remember nights
    all gathered around the Philco
or later the RCA...while momma
    "snapped the beans" there
in the pan in her lap       and
    she was still wearing
her wet apron from supper
   and washing the dishes...

This was ever etched on my
    mind from simpler times....
times when Americans
    were acting like Americans,
and

several days ago BE walked
    into my Writing Place
and set down this awful big
    clear plastic sack
of nice green beans!

and she said "Snap these for me
    and we'll have 'em
for supper!"    I, being a sous chef
   in my own right, calculated
an hour of sous work at best
   and said "okay,"
with limited enthusiasm....

Then an idea hit me. And I reached
  for my Fiskar Orange Hunting
Scissors, from their secret place...
     then--- whack, whack, whack,
was clipping five or six beans
     at a time    and I'll swanny,
the air  was green and filled
    with beans and half beans,
and especially ends of beans
    going every which way---
flying thru the air

For a time the whole world was
    just GREEN    how else
can I say it?

My dear mother...and even Ocasio
    would be proud of me
and
   to this very hour,
      not a day passes
          that green bean ends
still turn up from.... somewhere
    around my writing place.
----------
MIL
15 MARCH 19

TWELVE LITTLE FLITTING BIRDS

On the grain hanging 
   just outside my window
barely five feet away
   are off and on about
twelve little gray birds
   you can't predict when
they will come   or how long
    they will stay

sometimes you can't 
  even see ...the grain or
tell how many   for they are
   the most flitting, energetic,
nervous and yes-- hungry 
   little birds ever seen

they just peck and flit and jerk
    and nudge each other 
like it's their last meal on earth
   and one just is mesmerized
by them     just watching
   for they   are never still

and he thinks---"I'm going to look 
   them up in one of our 
numerous bird books " (good luck)
   and so    I grab a handy bird book
and look up thru the window

but       they are gone  suddenly 
          every one    gone
----------
MIL
14 MARCH 2019