Baby Bird

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This little baby bird was found today outside of it’s nest in our back yard

Huddled on the ground
Until I find the courage
To get up and fly.

~ D.L.Chilson, 20June2017

Camouflage 

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You did not see me 

Hiding in the water there,

But I can see you. 

~ D.L.Chilson, 6-15-2017
My son calls this little guy Calm, because he can sit by the pond and talk to him.  Calm does not like me, so this is as close as I get… with the zoom on my camera.  

Once a Week

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Once a week, I cry
Helpless tears for lost dreams fall
On hard party lines.

– by D.L. Chilson, February 2017

I admit it- I’m having trouble with the results of the 2016 elections.   I’m a lover of history, literature and as such, also politics. I love the little nuances, the behind the scenes stuff that turns current issues into dramatic historical facts.   These are things that fuel great literature and great thinkers, inspire revolutionaries and bold new worlds.

I’ve read about turning points in human history. Times of great struggle and conflict.  Of clashing ideals and policies.

I never realized I’d be living in such times. Where the future of so many people hung in the balance while our political parties fight for control the White House.

Our president is at best a political pawn and at worst, the next Adolf Hitler.  I’m still trying to decide which I think he is.

In the weeks since he was sworn in, however, at least once a week, I am suddenly overcome by tears and deep sorrow by something done by his new administration.  And they aren’t even all confirmed yet.

Tonight as I write this commentary, I listen to my daughter (straight A grades, honor roll, wants to be a nurse someday) reading Keats ‘Ode to a Nightingale’ and realize that dreams dashed in today’s confirmation hearings aren’t mine, but hers.  And her brother’s. And those of so many other children.

And my tears flow again.

 

 

Autumn

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Autumn, crisp fresh air
Falling leaves, drying corn stalks
Buzzing chain saws, Fall

What does this season mean to you?

Growing up on the farm, it was a time of final harvests.  Corn for the cows and for us, fire wood to keep us warm through the winter, squash and pumpkins from the garden.  It was air made crisper some how by the falling leaves and sweet with the smell of fresh cut fire wood.

This week, I’ve been helping my father cut fire wood and it’s brought back all of those memories.

What are yours?

Fleeting Hope

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Precious life new born

One small, fleeting, ounce of hope

We try to hold on

– by D.L. Chilson, July 2016

 

Tragic day on the farm. We lost a newly hatched baby chick. Its navel ruptured and it died. Death is a part of life, especially with farms and animals, but it still makes me sad today.

Even though this haiku is in direct response to losing the baby chick, it speaks to different kinds of life and loss. Or so I hope.