Obsessed by bogs!

Every mile or so in Ontario there’s a bog.
Some bogs are swampy ponds and others are cattail farms.
Some look like dead tree cemeteries and others are bushy groves.
And, some are softwood trees growing in a forest depression.

Every mile or so in Ontario there is a bog.
Some can be fished and others can be slogged.
Some are flooded from rain and others by spring snow-melt.
And, some are dried from beaver dams held firm.

Every mile or so in Ontario there is a bog.
Some are populated by herons and egrets and others by red-wings and wrens.
Some are fished by diving kingfishers and others are swum by muskrats and snakes.
And, some are nesting places for warblers and nuthatches.

Every mile or so in Ontario there is a bog.
Over years, changing from lake to swamp.
From from swamp to marsh.
From Marsh to bushy and tree-dotted pre-forest.
And, from pre-forest to softwoods in transition to forest.

There are bogs everywhere in Ontario ... a boring lecture this biologist is willing to give to all who are interested.    

A New Friendship

Peter ’n Maggie

What are good friends? Oh well … let me ponder it … hummmm … they deliver newspapers to you at your isolated cabin north of Toronto in the cool of the August noon when one is sleeping and another is cooking hot dogs over a hot stove keeping from being famished in the chair by the hummingbirds feeding themselves sugar water in preparation for the long flight south to South America. Or, they’re Maggie ’n Peter!

What are good friends? I think I get it ... no pondering necessary ... they stop by to say hello and stay for two hours drinking your vodka, wine and rye while chatting about sundry subjects that are of great interest at the time but get lost in the ether of our smiles and happy thoughts sent on to the hummingbirds preparing for their long flight south to South Carolina. Or, they’re Peter ’n Maggie!

What are good friends? I am now sure about it ... I am convinced that they are visitors from another world caring for alien beings hidden away in a rocky lake hideaway far from the beaten path of humanity here in Ontario near Apsley where fish are plenty and trees are spiking the blue sky of August colored green with envy and white clouds puffy in the midday sun. Or, they are The Peter ’n Maggie of the tribe “Special People” who love the hummingbirds who are soon leaving for alien places south of Canada!  

Upon Building a Treehouse: Preparing Many Years of Father-Son Love

Aaron’s Treehouse

Life will be really good in a father-built treehouse.

Hanging way up there in the middle of the tree.

Climbing its ladder each time will be a thrill.

Building it for your first son is way beyond joy.

Preparing many years of father-son love.

Life is full of camp-outs and sleep-overs.
Laying on sleeping bags and soft white pillows.
Listening to the owls hoot and the squirrels chatter.
Sleeping soundly until dawn bright light.
Experiencing many hours of father-son love.

Life is exciting when war is waged against it.
Play bullets, arrows and leaf grenades in flight.
Defending the tree fort from enemy fire.
Holding ‘em off until the dinner bell rings.
Having so much fun from father-son love.

Life is special when dad and son hide there and talk.
Telling stories about bold exploits and cunning.
Using the treehouse for secrets and sharing.
Holding pow-wows about first crushes and ball games.
Getting to know each other with father-son love.

Life is best when this son rebuilds the treehouse for his daughter.
Showing her how to perform perfect sleep-overs.
Using the treehouse to share boy stories and laughter.
Holding talk sessions about first kisses and coffee klatches.
Extending on the next generation of father-daughter love.

Life is outstanding with father-child love.
  

A backward poet writes inverse

?poet that am I

!my oh my

.it know don’t I

.bye ’n bye

?poet that is who

!me oh me

.it know I now

.cry ’n cry

?poet that is Hale Doc

!whale oh whale

.it show must I then

.psy ’n psy

?proof any got

!aye oh aye

.it goes here.

.try ’n try I’ll

!inverse t’was, see