Saturday, January 2, 2021

Walking Sticks

 


Walking Sticks

 

They look like walking sticks!” Ian exclaims.

And I have to agree

As I pause and watch as one

Methodically plods across the sticky wet path

Its prehistoric claws almost mechanical in their

Focused determination to cross.

Once I waited too long to move the garbage can

It was dark and damp, like tonight

When I did

There was one!

Its rubbery form freed from

The weight of weeks of trash.

Tonight, it’s Christmas Day

The trees dripping with rain

The dampness and the dark

Here at Wildcat Canyon envelop

Them in their migration to where?

Is it time for tea?

Or maybe a beer?

The salamanders aren’t saying

I screamed in shock when I moved the trash that night

But this evening I only smile

As I step carefully over one walking stick after another.

 

at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Psychic Warriors

  “What are you reading?” I ask Dave, who’s moved a ratty old porch chair out onto the sidewalk to take in the sun. It’s been raining, and I...

  • At Least We're Still Alive!
                A gray plush tabby darts in front of me, stopping to hunker down on the corner of a small patch of green lawn. Empty cat bow...
  • All the Time in the World
    Puffed, I plop down on the curb at the top of Clinton Hill. Take in the view of Mt. Tam shrouded in misty fog, grey elephant clouds hov...
  • Trees
                  Trying to avoid disheveled bearded man with brown and white Pitbull mix, I turn onto Grant Street from 30 th . Much of my walk...