Friday, December 12, 2014

Blackflies dream

If only you could know
The musky tang of berries
Rotting on the bush.

The fug of muskeg, peat bog
Sucking wet below a crust of ice,
Blackflies sleeping now;

Or massed in spinning columns,
Riding currents of warm air
In the dream of summer.

Where else would they go?
This crust is one they can't break through,
Their wings a crumpled mess.


Rachel Westfall
December 12, 2014

3 comments:

christopher said...

Bear Story

Black snuffs the berries
amazed he missed so many
his last pass through here
and glad to know Grump
did not find this place behind
his trail into it.
Black eats the berries,
gets a bit drunk on them too,
so he rolls nearby
in mud and late fall
joy with golden light flashing
through the last aspen
leaves fluttering down.

Grump will have to find his own
drunk patch by golly.

‎December ‎12, ‎2014 11:35 PM

Rob-bear said...

They are not my friends.
Definitely not my favourites.
I'm glad that they are gone
for the
winter.

Now, if we could
just keep them
under some crust
all day,
every day
of the
year.

Blessings and Bear hugs!

Rachel Westfall said...

I love your poems, Bear and Christopher. I'm sorry I didn't get back to them more quickly!