Wednesday, February 10, 2010



This is for you, Carmen…

During my early morning walk with the sun barely
visible over the southeastern horizon, approaching
the western boundary of the property I hear and
then notice the red-tailed hawk, perched above the
Catbird’s seat in the top of the tallest Florida pine,
all the while emitting its call, repeating over and
over; two buildings away, sitting atop the peak
its mate, smaller in size, answers plaintively, more
subdued, more guarded in their call and response.

Down near the lakeshore, a grey heron stands
erect on the bank reaching its three and a half
feet stretched height, its wings spread out
anhinga-like to catch the growing morning’s
warmth of this pre-winter sun’s rays. In the
waters along the shore, a hundred feet away
a younger, more dimutive heron, an offspring
no doubt, moves, now and again darting and
dipping its beak into the calm liquid, feeding on
whatever is available. And just a few feet from
this youngster, a still younger bird, a yet smaller
anhinga floats and also fishes, diving fully under
imitating its parents and resurfacing ten feet away.

Noticing such as the morning unfolds before me,
I continue my hour’s walk following the fence line
around the approximately mile and a half property
observing the varied mix of brush and shrubs, the
overhanging trees, and even weeds jutting some
ten feet into the air. The occasional pine stands
out in its height and sparse foliage. Returning
home I sip on a bottle of fresh spring-fed, chilled
artisan well drawn water, and sit here by the porch
window so I can overlook the mirror-like surface
of the lake. Of course, it is in moments like these,
while completing my solitary trek around the acreage,
that I acknowledge our connection, your very real
presence in my life for giving me such a visage,
for opening me to the possibilities surrounding us.

Such as you, the one in a lifetime woman, without
who I am but half the man, only a shell so shallow
in skeleton and skin, helping transform me into the
living, breathing person you greet with that smile
in your voice and an enticing grin spreading wide
across your face with your eyes opening letting the
light emphasize the sparkle so readily every time
you come into view. Such, my Love, is life with you.

--Fred Wolven is editor of Ann Arbor Review a poetry ezine open to quality work from poets throughout the world. Author of The Cat Outside His Door: Poems After Roethke, a book looking for a publisher, Fred is a retired prof, an avid reader, and life-time student of the late poet Theodore Roethke.

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