The Ptarmigan

Between mountain peaks
And passing clouds, you
Just might spot the nest
Of a rock ptarmigan.

Her plumage the mottled
Browns and golds of an
Expecting mother, tending
Her clutch in summer heat.

But though she is vigilant,
These eggs will never hatch.
Her efforts in vain, she will
Try to encourage their shells.

Eventually, she will abandon
Them, and her speckled visage,
For snowy tundra brush and
A clean start in white feathers.

MSBQ

Metamorphosis

It used to be that
I’d most keenly
Feel the stroke of
Inspiration among
Summer’s rays.

Now, it seems,
My tastes have changed.
I’ve traded the sweeter
Juice of solstice berries
For the communion wine
Of autumn’s bluster.

Sacred and bitter
And coppery as blood,
I embrace the dimming
Sunset and look
Forward to night.

For all my misgivings,
A change is all I need.

MSBQ

Nature’s Fury

Our planet sways,
Twirling madly around
The glowing orb of light
We have called the sun;
And here we call home.

Water and air and soil
Compromise in space to
Allow us purchase here,
And we do so very little
To thank Mother Nature.

Despite many hazards,
We leave forests empty
And seas spoiled abroad.
We ignore the warnings
Hiding in tree rings and
Long forgotten stones.

Buried like seeds, they
Rest not in peace but in
Wait for the right time
And the right season.

Only then will they rise.
Sprouts among giants but
Strong as an alder bough,
Ready to form in tandem
The eaves of this church
We now worship within.

MSBQ

Daughters of the Wild

Unlike those who are born
From the forest, the Daughters
Are those who seek to leave
Their mortal lives behind and
Become one with the deity
Who rules all beneath
Leaf and bough, forever
Tied to the loamy soil.

They may start life, as most
Tiny buds do, in quiet and
Understated circumstances,
Letting time and sunlight
Do what food and water
Simply cannot.

As they mature, like roses
With petals opened just so,
They reveal their potential,
And burst forth into the wild.
They serve Her now, and
Perform ancillary duties to
The realm of leaves.

You will only hear them
Sigh if you listen closely,
It is a blessed breeze
On a hot summer’s day.

MSBQ

Significance

Lumbering clouds
Crawl by slowly on
A canvas the color of
The Virgin Mary’s dress:
Pure and sacred.
Those who have never
Crossed into Montana
Will never understand
Why it is called
Big Sky Country.
It’s less an issue of
Scale, and more an
Issue of comprehension;
It’s not the sky that is big
It’s us who are small.
Nothing like the
Utter vastness of
Nature to make one
Feel insignificant.

You squinted your eyes,
Making your nose
Crinkle up in that way
That I always adore.
You furrowed your
Brow, about to say
Something important:
“The world seems so
Much more romantic
In my head.”
I thought to ask what
You meant, but only
The wind had any
Answer for you.

MSBQ