Moving to New Hampshire
First Friends
First morning
in a new place
a new space
Boxes, mountainous,
waiting to be opened,
unpacked,
ordered into cabinets, onto shelves
but even as the chores of settling in
loom before me
I have routines
to anchor me, wherever, whenever
Morning coffee, and my
my moments of meditation
move me into the day.
I boil water, prepare the pot
and stretch the in-breaths of wonder.
It’s done, I’m here, what next?
Mug in hand
I step outside to meet the morning friends
of my new life.
Lily announces herself first,
no other name is possible.
Lily, the great red pine
perhaps five stories high,
is the cornerstone of my woods.
Her lean russet gray trunk
holds a flourish of branches
above the woods around her
as she too stretches to catch
the glint of morning sun,
and trumpet the start of day.
Beneath her,
entwined around her lower half
are the younger maple twins,
Cathy, flouncing her red in the morning breeze
and Margaret, wearing yellow.
Gentle John stands behind the three,
stately in his traditional
evergreen stance.
These three stand out
as I scan my morning porch view,
but further back are more.
The beech and birch and fir and spruce.
My woods and welcome to them.
Yes some stand out,
some have their moments of glory
but it is a community as well,
my nearest neighbors,
my woods
to learn and live with,
my friends.
Meet Lily, Cathy, Margaret and Gentle John
Little George
I admit,
I didn’t appreciate George
for what he was
at least not to start.
You see, I had a cell phone
that didn’t work,
in the house, or near the house.
And so,
the jangle of the cell phone
sent me running towards my rock.
I’d named some trees already,
I’d name my rock,
why not?
But what would fit?
And so
I stood a distance away
and found the place to grab
those effervescent signals from afar.
Time-Warner wouldn’t come immediately
to install the needed land line.
I kept apace with the outer world,
by standing in my special place.
It’s than I noticed the rock.
Not boulder large
but nicely shaped,
a point
and then a lesser point...
a seat.
This rock of mine
quite clearly did resemble,
was surely related,
a direct descendent of
the glory of the Whites.
And so
I named him Little George.
Little George
Dreaming
of his
Namesake
With squinting eye of artist
I judged his shape to be
a mini-mountain grey
with just a hint of snow cap white
with ledges, cracks and crevices.
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Lily, Cathy, Margaret and Gentle John in winter.