NaturesOde

A mighty white Hand Is advancing from the Blue Immense frothing focus Of relentless force and hissing. Should I move further Back on this Beach Or just stay here For the experience and thrill? Here it comes…am I ready. But then, a settling, a relaxing And only a friendly flow Washes my feet. As if with a Smile. Someone’s showing off. * image coming from Yasmeen Hussain FB. THANKS. Incredible wave action near Port Stanley, Lake Erie. Take notice of that undertow Sammy. Story is told of a Guy Who was pulled under and along. Popped up at some beach in Toledo Ohio. Similar hazard got to my  Grandfather Roy Blair.  He barely made it back to shore At Turkey Point. Never swam the Lake again.

That last video on Psalm 148: the Creation MUST WORSHIP AND ACKNOWLEDGE. Incomparable. Breathtaking. Arresting And conveying satisfaction Complete. Minutes, six and a half. https://naturesode.blogspot.com/2023/08/psalm-148-in-hebrew-marvelous-and-those.html Photo from British novelist Rachel Joyce FB . She has been resting at her place. Communing. Charging up again. Note: my Son and Daughter in Law are expecting their second child in about three weeks. Again they will witness a creation, and attest to the Lord’s goodness, loving kindness and complete care. So be it…

 

  There are markings Of a ferret chasing a Mate Or a Lunch. Blue Jay etches snow angels Struggling with smaller wings. For a choice between nut. Whining through the pines Gives an edgy musical score. But the smell with the breeze Cannot be forgotten. It contains the comforts of A warm July morn, rains passed And hope in the furtive heart Strong as a sizzling fire Neath icy boughs. Written December 14, 2020 Doug Blair.

  Large expression of thanks to Yasmeen Hussain FB. Wings so fast. Invisible. Purple draws him over. Pollination gonna happen, as Little one flits around. Tinkerbell everyday occurence

 

  Kelowna, BC. RIGHT NOW. Have a friend named Toby In younger days he had A job out of Timmins Fighting forest fiires. The call would come  And men in very precise procedure Raced to to the choppers. And they were gone. Some brief details from Lands and Forests Fire characteristics and location And movement direction That was it. Very little talking. Thoughts drifting back to Previous episodes of Hazard, near entrapments Lucky breaks with Winds or rain. Racing hose lines to the maximum Distance from water pumps. Ministry was on a strict  Budget alotment per fire. When the money was use up. They packed up. Hoping that backfires set Would choke out the Enemy. Sometimes neighbourhoods of houses Were at stake. Residents evacuated.

Part I like the best Hiking short distance From my sister’s cottage Near Queen Charlottes. Trees have outlasted Five generations. carved into impressive war canoes By Kwakiutl lads. Burned and hollowed out. Imagine those suckers giving transport To whale hunters Leviathan making his way From Chilean shores to the Bering. Rolling gently, merrily As frothy wake jumped. To the rear. Fearless of the harpoon assault. I can just lose myself  In sweet smelling forest. Discovering occasionally Ancient totems With their succinct histories Or warnings. I see myself as rude sometimes. Leaving the hosting family For so much of my stay. But sister knows me well And is happy That I am happy. Always hot meals waiting.

  The bay and the boat and the bass. And later Scott’s Son Peter with the big motha pike…

  Hundreds on the cinnamon rocks. They just loll and roll The Ocean backdrop Calling tales to mind of Passing ships and sailors Playing at the shore. Touching ground, laughing. Escaping the nagging pulse Of brine for an interlude. Walrus pay no mind. Nope, they stick to sex And child care, eating large. Trips offshore, feeding.  Frolicking. With gymnastic poise, underwater. Sharks and jellies are skirted round. masters of choreography, really. Surprising in the surf. Not just fat and stretch  and boorish belching noise. Each day much the same.

 

  East Africa. Eleven days here by boat And train of native bearers. Quite a feat in this year 1932. Big game the idea. Life and death in one’s hands. Cape buffalo, lion, hyena The dirty little yipping ****s. Especially a problem after dark Eyes shining cunning and malevolence. Camp set these last four days Looking up to Kilimanjaro And clouds as pawns, doting servants Around the peak. Guide Nkomo tells me About leopards. Likely to be our game and reward. Cagy, strong, agile. Tree climbers. Powerful enough to haul Heavy capture up a tree Dead and dangling. Hope it won’t be Me. That’s for sure. Nkomo just laughs it off. He has stood against four charges. Fearless. Younger Brother wasn’t so lucky. Attacked last October.

  We did it. We came in first We made a lot of noise The twelve of us  In war canoe The two mile course Our choice. And at the turn A jam packed mess As gunwales thumped And squealed. But Scotty gave A giant push That we might  gain the field. It seemed a Second wind set in. As we the Camp could see And blueberry pie And cold ice cream The prize deserved BY ME! The paddles stowed The heaving chests The handshakes for Our friends. And sportsmanship Came up a notch. That’s how Our story ends. Note: in giving account of a heated Race, phase by phase, I am reminded of a long narrative poem by John Masefield about a major steeplechase horse event in England. The title was…just give me a minute…let me call to mind…hold on, my friend…RIGHT ROYAL,  51 pages of excitement in rhyme.  Volume copyright 1923. A gift from a workmate Mike Stuebing . Now 100 year old book!