All Poems, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Stowe 2021, Trips and Places

The Sky Opened

 

Have you ever been walking when the sky opened?
Just this morning, on the rec path in Stowe.
The sky simply burst.
Rain pounded the canopy and me.
With the force of a waterfall.
At first, I struggled with getting soaked.
Raised my umbrella.
Aligned my feet under it.
Held it close to my head.
But the energy of the universe overwhelmed it.
There was nothing to do but yield.
Only then could I see the joy.
In thirsty shrubs, trees, flowers.
The ebullience of streams.
The shine of leaves.
For an instant, I merged with goldenrods.
Milkweeds.
Morning glories.
Purified, gazing at green mountains, heavens.
Washed, worthy, wandering.
And wondering, always wondering.

Lynn Benjamin
August 29, 2021

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Stowe 2021, Trips and Places

Rain in Stowe

 

Rain in Stowe refreshes,
refocuses the mind.
The Rec Path, empty of bikers, hikers.
Even birds, squirrels, chipmunks cease their play, hide.
I am alone with oaks, maples, birches.
Leaves glisten as droplets cleanse them.
Drip drips turn puddles into concentric circles.
Water rushes downstream, loud, but calming.
Rain refills streams, makes hundreds of waterfalls off rocks.
Each bridge is a front row seat to the spectacle.
Black eyed Susans dot the path.
A cornfield undulates beside me.
The mountains in the distance cradle clouds, mist.
Dreamlike, a haze rises.
Spirits of ancestors, clad in bird vetch, wild morning glories, emerge.
Meet me in shadows.
To survey my odyssey of discovery, decline, death.
I reassure them.
Tell them I’m close.
That I’ll be heading home soon.

Lynn Benjamin
July 2, 2021

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Babies, Change, Environment/Mother Earth, Family, Grandchildren, Natural Beauty, Sounds, Stories, Stowe 2021, Time

Sounds in Stowe

 

Sounds in Stowe are gentler than where I come from.
It’s quiet, almost silent, among tall pines, oaks, maples.
Except for flutters of swallowtails,
buzzes of bees, bellows of bullfrogs,
chattering of blue jays, cardinals.
It’s still, save for breezes that stir,
unfurl leaves like fans.
You can practically hear ferns,
buttercups, daisies grow.
Even children who breathe healthful air
begin to sprout like milkweed, sway,
attract monarchs.
Who, graceful, flap their wings.
Soft lullabies soothe toddlers to dreams
of ponds, waterlilies, tadpoles.
Sometimes, chicks, cows, goats,
grazers on hillside farms.
Soft imprints, impressions.
Calm, comfortable, hushed.
Settled into sleep sacks now.
Silk sheets in just a blink!

Lynn Benjamin
June 28, 2021

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Environment/Mother Earth, For Children, Natural Beauty, Politics, Stories, Stowe 2021, Worry

I Was Walking

I Was Walking

I was walking by a thicket of ferns,
some tall maples, birches
when I heard thud.
Then galloping in the brush.
I couldn’t see my fellow wayfarer,
but I imagined a small brown bear.
I know bears wander among grasses,
wildflowers, clovers.
Listening to sounds of woodpeckers,
owls, cardinals, unanticipated footsteps.
I would, too, if I were born a bear.
I’d also hide from humans,
only peek at night into the world
of roads, electricity, plumbing.
So many marvels of engineering!
I think I would wish to immigrate,
settle into a home, go to school.
But I know what would happen to me, my cubs.
Trust is precious, precarious, like the earth.
I’ll keep my faith in forests.
Come in.
Visit if you’d like.
But leave all guns in the passageway,
footpath to fiddleheads, morels, raspberries.
All wild, free.

Lynn Benjamin
June 29, 2021

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, People Traits, Stories, Stowe 2021, Trips and Places

Eleven Horses

 

On my walks along the path in Stowe,
I pass eleven horses in a meadow.
Motionless, subdued, they calmly graze
to sounds of rushing streams,
currents racing over rocks, under trees.
Later, each day, I see them pulling carriages
or carrying riders on equestrian trails.
I am spellbound, awed.
Sensing we have things in common.
Over many years, I, too, carried others,
pulled loads, though mostly emotional.
Carrying, pulling take a toll.
Perhaps the horses stand stock-still each morning
to ready themselves for labor.
Meditate.
Absorb forestial beauty.
Simply observe passersby.
They deserve renewal
before one day, after the last.
I remember needing regeneration, too,
a power nap, at times.
Horses earn rights.
To retreat, reflect, reminisce.
Rest their backs.

Lynn Benjamin
July 3, 2021

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Environment/Mother Earth, For Children, Humor, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Seasons, Stowe 2021, Trees, Trips and Places

Forests in Stowe

 

Forests are magical places.
The ones in Stowe, no exception.
Fields of goldenrods, touch-me-nots, parasol white tops.
Punctuated by morning glories, white and lavender asters.
All atop the greenest moss, interspersed with ferns.
Hundreds of Japanese knotweeds, thick along streams.
Birches, maples, pines stretching skyward.
Trees and bushes bursting with seedpods, berries.
Synchronous with songs of cicadas, flapping wings
of grasshoppers, butterflies.
Spiders claiming the rungs of bridges to spin webs.
Caterpillars, green, white, orange, crossing the path.
Sparrows, crows chirping, cawing without restraint.
The marvels, endless.
Treats for news-weary eyes, ears.
But today, I wonder if the canopy offering shade,
berry bushes flaunting red, blue,
mushroom caps dotting the ground,
Percy Farm stalks stooping with corn,
sumac trees gripping colorful red fruits,
are watching us as we walk, jog, bike along
miles of rec path.
Do they comment on our sneakers, hats, Schwinns, dogs?
I’m convinced they do.
We must be entertainment for rocks, trees,
rushing waters, owls, bees.
So tomorrow, I’ll debut,
as I meander through,
fanciful garb, sun bonnet,
a squeaky shoe, or two.

Lynn Benjamin
August 27, 2021

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Stowe 2021, Trips and Places

Dawn Rises Early in Vermont

 

Dawn rises early in Vermont.
The sun is in retreat.
It’s damp from last night’s showers.
Air, cool, pristine.
Mist, white, heavy, sits atop the mountain,
a crown of sorts.
Clouds billow quilt like,
dark on white, patches of light blue.
Down below, the forest, matte.
Shades of green, brown, dotted with
wildflowers, yellow, lavender, white.
An occasional newt, chipmunk scurries by.
Birds chit chatting, woo hooing, pecking.
Joyful choruses.
Bullfrogs hopping, skipping from edges of every pond.
Streams, brooks rush past waterfalls unfolding off rocks.
The smell, pure, piney.
Nothing you could capture in a bottle.
My camera, too small to record this majesty.
My memory, too faulty.
Words will have to do.

Lynn Benjamin
July 1, 2021

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Birthdays, Family, For Children, Grandchildren, Stowe 2021, Trips and Places

A Tad of Magic

 

Caw, caw, caw, sang the crow
as he landed on a stalk of corn at Percy’s Farm.
The rain abated.
Robins sang.
Chipmunks ran.
Even trees appeared to yawn and stretch
as though waking from a nap.
It’s been a lucky day,
this day of showers,
of cotton candy rising from the mountains.
Ez turned three in Stowe.
The day when he manned his kayak on the pond,
assembled boats, buildings with blocks,
watched  rain clean window panes, porch.
There must have been a tad of magic in it, too.
For upon the glass settled a light green luna moth,
messenger, newly hatched from its cocoon.
Come to make sure the birthday boy
had glowing greetings from the moon!

Lynn Benjamin
July 3, 2021

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Death, Homages, Natural Beauty, Stowe 2021, Trips and Places

A Yellow Swallowtail

A Yellow Swallowtail

A yellow swallowtail lay dead,
but perfect,
on the floor of a borrowed car.
Its wings, a silk scarf.
Blue, orange, black on yellow,
folded, ready to put away.
No flutter.
No breath
Here. Now.
A silenced soul,
never to fly again.
Who pays homage to the fallen,
separated from companions?
I suppose whoever stumbles upon the lifeless
pays tribute to the glory of its lifecycle,
progeny,
beauty.
To all living things,
existence,
demise.
To knowledge that though brief,
life is a palette of colors.
Each organism leaving a mark.

Lynn Benjamin
July 5, 2021

 

Aging, All Poems, Humor, Panic, Prose/memoir, Stories, Stowe 2021, Trips and Places

Bob’s Shoe Horn

 

Bob has always used a shoe horn.
Donning sneakers, work, dress shoes.
Mostly, it was a small metal gadget.
Sometimes plastic.
But more metal than plastic since
plastics often snap in half.
Leaving the shoe horn user without a way to ease heel into shoe.
But those three-and-a-half inchers also require bending down.
All of which is fine when the body, young and supple.
What happens when a person ages?
When hunching over, not only a chore, but could lead to devastating consequences?
Like getting stuck with the chin beside the toes?
The spine collapsed?
Well, these days, everything has a solution.
You can purchase shoe horns thirty-one inches long!
Right on Amazon!
You can stand and put on shoes!
What a novelty!
A lifesaver!
So, extra-long shoe horns appeared in every room of the house.
Plastics of blue, red, green.
What color would you like? he’d ask me.
Long metal ones, again, much sturdier.
It seemed as if Bob would never be without a horn to guide his foot.
Of course, when traveling by plane, he’d have to pack smaller ones.
But during pandemic days, driving our only mode of transport.
The upside, he could take a giant shoe horn.
Occupying a space in the back of the Volvo X90.
On this last trip to Stowe, in fact, he brought a blue plastic one.
Since we traveled to and from hotel to visit family, Bob had to take his appliance back and forth.
Otherwise, how would he accomplish the off and on task of leaving shoes at the door?
Roaming the house in socks?
Escapades with the blue stick abounded.
On our first day visiting,
he forgot the horn at the hotel.
Standing at the door until given a magnanimous dispensation.
Permission to climb the stairs with shoes on to bid grandkids goodnight.
Another time, he worried he’d leave his horn at the family home, forget to take it back to the hotel.
Confiding that if he forgot it, he’d not be able to change into trousers from shorts.
Once shoes  off, he’d be marooned in stockinged feet, unable to drive.
And finally, Ezra, three, took great delight in swashbuckling with his grandpop’s sword-like shoe horn.
So, at one point in his fanciful play,
the thing disappeared entirely.
Initiating panic, and an urgent search.
Who ever thought shoe horns could occasion such attachment?
And to be sure, I never paid much attention, till they grew in size and number.
So, like all stories, this tale has a moral,
simple, sweet, sage and neat.
When traveling, take two shoe horns.
After all, you have two feet!

Lynn Benjamin
August 31, 2021