The complexity of the leaftode (leafus arachnidias) has astonished the scientific community since its discovery in 1957. Half-human, half-arachnid, the leaftode has enjoyed a resurgence these past twelve hundred years. Some point to the melting ice caps, others the demise of ancient Greece. This orange-red, bristly invertebrate makes its home among the sheltering leaves and branches of the oak, the linden and the chanticleer pear. These tiny beings, nomads of the arboreal, romp and play with a ferocity becoming noble warriors of the realm. Slip-hopping from leaf to leaf, the joyful leaftode shimmies with mammalian-ecstasy amidst its signature cries of munny-CHEEP!, munny-CHEEP! in the early spring when temperatures begin to hover above sixty-seven degrees (F). Leaftodes, due to the hybridic nature of the species, chiefly feed off the discarded waste of homo sapiens. They also crave, in the colder months, tree wax, shoelaces and hard plastic. Because reading material is hard to come by, what with the logistics of transport and the vagaries of atmospheric conditions in its home range of the Midwestern United States (the leaftode DOES reside in the out-of-doors), the intellectual acumen of this 5-legged, dual-sectioned species leaves (pun intended) much to be desired. But I would never hold that against them.
you were just in the right place
at the very wrong time
for my future
for every dream
I’d not yet allowed
myself to dream
all that followed
to that awkward discovery
no pleasure, tenderness none
just shame and regret
methinks you knew exactly what you were doing
Grit sustains me.
I hold on both soft and tight,
a self-embrace unlike no other.
seek to overlay
amid my red-blue veins,
these emanating cords of my within.
My words belong to me.
Mine to invert as I please.
Mine to wrestle, to subjugate
to contemplate, to savor.
Mine to coalesce toward
my own redress.
Others’ steely wits resolve to upend
yet I remain true.
That lovely muscle
that beats for —and of — me,
loyalty to self: rewarded.
These peaceful pebbles glisten just for me.
I care not if for no other.
Sitting in a cushion-comfy Adirondack
in the shade of two white oak trees and a beloved maple,
I peer into the thick green canopy overhead,
the gentle sway of leaves in the late-day breeze
mesmerizing in its own right.
Bisecting a slender stem of new growth,
a small, textbook-perfect acorn catches my eye.
I love the solitary position of this tiny specimen
tucked among the umbrella of spirally orchestrated leaves.
Are there more, I wonder?
I sit quietly, focusing on each quadrant of the crown.
Looking past the gestalt of this god of thunder,
I drill down to each branch, each twig, each leaf.
I am patient.
Then, I find it. Another acorn,
a branch or two higher,
just to the right of the first one.
Two of them. Might I detect a third?
I do. Then a fourth, and a fifth.
Clusters of acorns, too, become apparent.
My discerning eye begins to see.
The longer I sit here,
persistent and with intent,
the more I start to notice.
Birds also enter the range of this fresh, new vision.
They stop at the feeder, oblivious to my presence,
a nod to how motionless I’ve become in my revelry.
Sparrows striped in buff, black, brown.
Purple finches, red-winged blackbirds, a spectacular male cardinal.
At the base of the maple, a mourning dove returns my inquisitive stare.
I burrow deeper. I enjoy their song.
Bella greets each new day
B.O.A. — Bored On Arrival.
Cashmere closets no longer inspire.
Morning mimosas have become blasé.
Angkor Wat – what a snooze.
Yosemite, Yemen, Yellowstone?
DIY violent death?
Google search engine
In full throttle
Might just be memorable.
Here’s one she finds particularly amusing: Pomegranate Razor Smoothies
Bella, I wouldn’t go there if I was you.