As nature rages

they thumb through the pages

for a prophecy written in stone.

But nature engages

as she has through the ages

in unforeseen rants of her own.

It comforts the soul

and furthers their goal

to portray it as something divine.

As the century grows old

the truth will unfold

and me thinks in the end

we will find...

The destruction of us

will be not by command

But the result of our own misguided hand.

The rewards of having grandchildren are beyond counting. Just yesterday, I spent the morning with my six ("almost seven, Grammy") granddaughter who never ceases to amaze me. The day started out great. I went into town and picked her up at 7:30 am and we headed for the country where an all-to-quiet nature awaited the arrival of a little screaming voice. The trip itself was consumed by conversation of what she wants for her 'almost seven' birthday present. Even as I was strapping her securely into her car seat she was giving me subtle hints like "I want one of those things that comes with a thing and you make things with it ...I want one of those for sure Grammy" and, "Did you know they have this sorta pink stuff that's kinda like sand when you start but then you put water on it and it like dries and turns hard or something... I want one of those too." pause... "And don't forget about that doll that I told you about before... oh, I almost forgot, they have this really cool swimming pool for dolls and I want that too." Finally, she's strapped in and we went on our way! Halfway through the ride we came to a mutual agreement that when we got to Grammy's house we would make a list. Wow! My head was spinning trying to remember phrases like pink goopy stuff and kinda sorta sandy! As the day progressed, we forgot about the list. We had more important things to do on Grammy Day. It had been a while since we'd spent quality time together. I pushed her on the swing in the back yard where she pleaded to play Kick the Grammy (a game from her not so forceful youth that I was hoping she'd forgotten ), we picked black raspberries (I picked, she stood with her hand out) and we strolled through Grammy's woods where she told me "Grampa should get out here and mow this grass." As a grand finale she tied the door to my office shut when I went in to check my email. When she was finished, she innocently sat outside and asked "Grammy, can you come out here for a minute?" Getting out was no easy task. She had tied her jump-rope to the door knob, wrapped it around a nearby shelf and securely knotted it. I was impressed among other emotions with her knotting skills but thank God she doesn't yet understand the meaning of a taut rope! I had just enough play in it to get my hand through the opening and get myself out. Today I can't help but laugh at her antics. (Except for the one where she put the broom across the living room doorway and then yelled for me to come quick!) Like I said... Ya Gotta Love Em! And yes, I do.

Dedicated to Olivia

I hear the howling wind

And the stately maples bend

To sweep the ground.

As the unrelenting ire

Of a cyclone laced with fire Touches down.

Where storms have raged before

I fear that something more

Is in the making.

There’s an urgency that’s sensed

In this summer storm pretense That leaves one shaking.

Off to rescue sleeping babies

As new certainties quite vaguely Settle in.

And to watch as nature’s fury

The appointed Judge and Jury Charges in.

While praying for salvation Impending devastation

Takes its course.

But little hearts

know naught of fate

So I smile and underrate

This deadly force.

With equal lack of warning

The sun returns

adoring hearts are mended

And no one anywhere

Was the slightest bit aware

The world had ended.

The bumble bee sits in my hand And look, he does not quiver While sweet Olivia's childish look As though an animated book Approaches a curious shiver.

But Grammy, if he stings me now Won't that really, really hurt me? And make me really, really mad (Her face is growing long and sad) At every single humble bumble bee?

It's hard to say, my little one

You'll know when you are ready Until that time, back up and wait With trusting eyes and spaghetti gait, She moves back slow and steady.

You see, my precious, bumble bees, Not built for fright or flight, Are here to bring us wonder and astound

And had they never taken on

that daring chance at flight,

they surely would have never left the ground.

I know one day with daring heart In a scary grown-up land

You'll feel the need to take that chance

And allow some bumble bee to dance

In the palm of your trusting hand.

The chances you take are included in life's great plan.

The old shovel leans securely against the weathered building rusted and worn from years of use and obvious abuse.

Small traces of red paint cling

to the dry, splintered wood

that once connected man-power

to its ground-breaking point.

A subtle reminder of loss...

the old shovel leans securely

against the weathered building.

The spider and I walk together

on a shared yet separate path

both forever yielding

for the other one to pass.

Side by side we travel

the spider and the sparrow

he on his path, me on mine

we walk the straight and narrow.