Part of me
     wants to stay put
     behind shuttered windows
     and closed doors...

Part of me
     needs to wander
     and explore 
     the healing paths
     of my world...  



Either way,
I come out here
once or twice a week,
sometimes more,
especially when springtime
calls to me
to gather my walking stick
and reverently inspect the burgeoning landscape
with my ungloved hands.

I listen for the blue jay's call
as I wend my way to Miller's Pond

At the water's edge,
breath-catching coldness
slips between arthritic fingers
eager to find a pebbled treasure
or two...

Hands quickly stuffed 
into frayed coat pockets,
I turn my face
into the early spring breeze
and raise my weary eyes
to the ever-changing skyscape
as I embrace
the healing cacophony
of Miller's Pond...



                                                                                      .
I don’t expect much;
just a few treasured moments
to freely breathe
and quietly observe
this oasis of rejuvenation;
     no nagging impediments
     or schedules 
     demanding my attention
 
Clear my head; 
that’s all I really hope to accomplish
on a good day
out here…

Oftentimes,
that selfsame squawking blue jay
will announce my presence
by scolding me from
nearby hoary birch tree
that should have fallen
from its tenuous mooring
on the northern edge of Miller's Pond
years ago...

                                                                             

I laugh aloud and 
scold him right back 
for disturbing my 
longed-for reverie:
    'Jaay-Jaay-Jaay!
     Are you behaving today?'

He's such a bold bully
     in both sound and size
     compared to the curious black-capped chickadees
     and sweet purple finches 
     that dart in and out among 
     this budding world
     of beckoning possibilities...

                                                                               
 
Out here,
spring erupts,
seemingly overnight, in a frenzy
of marsh marigolds
and parades of turtles
sunning on sunken mossy logs...                                                                                                        



                                          With three fawns following close to her side,
a white-tailed doe
approaches the pond,
unfazed by my presence and 
the myriad of pond skaters
slipping in and out among
statuesque, fuzzy cattails...
  Maybe that's what gets
that jeering jaybird all stirred up:
     Too much change and movement
     Too many characters all in one place
     Not ready 
     Stuck in his ways
Content with winter's status quo
of sleet and rain and snow...
 
Me?
I can handle change
I can handle anything
Mother Nature,
or everyday life,
throws at me

As long as I can come out here
on a good day,
once or twice a week;
maybe more...

Who knows?
Perhaps next time,
I'll bring that feathered nuisance
some dried bread crumbs
or peanuts;
     I know he favors peanuts;
     I have it on the most reliable authority...



Maybe that old bluejay's
just tired, too,
and becomes ornery
when uninvited guests suddenly appear
and disrupt the equilibrium
of his special world...
Uninvited guests, like me,
     even on a good day
     out here...