Here in the Hollow



Impressions of my cabin up north, while sitting on my home-built front porch swing.

Here in the heart of Woodpecker Hollow

one finds the so sought-after solace that salves

a weary soul.


The trees give ovation to the rising of the sun

as a gentle breeze rustles their leaves.


A lazy dog lies languorously 'neath a worn old picnic table

cradling between her two front paws

a tired, mud-covered soccer ball

like a little girl does her favorite dolly.


The Sand-hill cranes warble their alien cries across the forest

while a pair of pileated woodpeckers wing perilously

twixt the boughs of the trees cackling their laughter at

one another; ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

All the while, three eagles soar above

riding thermals in the sky, eyeing the woods

expecting an unwary gopher

or field mouse

or kit rabbit.


At night, the owls call out their melancholy,

everlasting, never answered question

to each other

to the night,

to the moon.

And the coyotes yip-yap

and the wolves bay

and the frogs chee

and the little snipe fleetly flitter-flutter from the front

of any approaching vehicle

like a great, grand game of chicken. Wait!

As long as you can; 'til the metal monster

is upon you! Then fly!


The black bear sown blackberry bushes

and raspberry vines, line the trails neatly,

plumply tempting the

wandering wayfarer wearily waving away

the mosquitoes and no-see-ums

that buzz about the head.


The creak of the swing

on the front porch of the cabin

overlooking the fire-pit cheerily,

brightly-burning, pungent wood smoke

rising to the sky, lulls its captive to

sweet, deep, sleep.

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