Posts Tagged ‘back yard’

Uninvited Guests

picnic file000250766038

Table set, places to sit.
Guests arrive, barbie lit.
Then the wasps swing by,
uninvited.

A flurry for covers, cans of spray,
furtive eating, looking each way,
for the wasps are here,
despite it.

Yet there’s water to drink, food to eat,
more than enough. We are replete,
though the wasps hang round,
delighted.

Praise for our table, cleared of its scraps.
Thanks for our friends, as we now relax,
now the buzzing wasps
are quieted.

© Copyright Ellen Carr 2015

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The thrill of surprise

800px-Anthochaera_chrysoptera_4.jpg see attribution

I’m watching two wattle birds swoop down to splash,

taking turns in the fish pond, in a quick dash,

then perching to shake themselves, on the deck rail,

feathers now fluffy – head, wing and tail.

Their choice of a bath place, I didn’t expect.

My custom-made birdbath they chose to reject.

And by my front door in camellia bush nest,

are three tiny sparrows, my scarce-hidden guests.

Such public nesting, so easy to spy,

where everyday traffic passes close by,

is not what’s expected in avian care,

I’d expect sparrow parents to house them elsewhere.

Oh, the creatures of nature don’t always conform

to our expectations, to our sense of norm.

They make creature choices, they find their own ways,

co-existing with humans, they brighten our days.

What a joy God’s creation, its myriad forms.

What a marvel the way every creature performs.

In the pattern and order, the thrill of surprise,

in delights unexpected, our Creator’s so wise.

Copyright © Ellen Carr 2013

The giant is felled

The giant of our backyard is felled.

For twenty years or more she stood

white limbed

elegant,

watching over our neigbourhood,

calling birds to perch awhile,

to sing their songs

on high.

What tales she might have told.

Perhaps she did,

in waving whispers.

 

She saw our baby girls into womanhood,

from swings to sandpits,

to salaries,

watched the house next door

reduced to dusty rubble

for the three in its place,

looked down on guinea pigs and dog,

our barbecues,

our digging and our planting,

our rest and our play.

 

Through storms she stood,

through drought.

She hung on in white resplendence

as her sweet leaves vanished.

Marauders of the night devoured her,

stripped her bare

to gleaming bones.

She stood, a gracious skeleton

of death,

clinging to a ghostly life.

 

So not to eke a stark existence out,

her final days she shed

to warming hearths

and nourishing soil.

She bowed out gracefully

and vanished like the ghost she was,

to memory

of lemon-scented leaves

and towering tree.

 

© Ellen Carr 2014

Written when our beautiful lemon-scented gum tree (eucalyptus tree) had to be cut down due to the effect of our drought years, a few years back, and the destructive work of possums, eating its leaves. I miss its tall beauty and the many rainbow lorikeets (little parrots) that used to sit in it and squawk loudly.