wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.

Author Archives: wordsfromanneli


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Bugs for Lunch

Please watch this clip and see the ways,

I work so hard to try,

To feed myself in hungry days,

To make sure I don’t die.

 

The maple bark was way too clean,

It came apart with ease,

But nought was there for me to glean,

No breakfast bite to please.

 

I flitted to a nearby fir,

You see the different bark,

Its bumpy, roughness won’t deter,

My beak will find the mark.

Oh dear! I must take much more care,

To eat bugs ere they fly,

Right in my armpit, he did dare

To bite me. “Now you’ll die!”

Elusive little bug, you are, 

But mind my bendy neck,

I’ll find you, and you won’t get far,

I’ll eat you with one peck.


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The Eagle-eyed Weatherman

My eagle eye inspects the sky

To ferret out the chill,

And now I’m left to wonder why

The snow came down at will.

 

I know it’s colder in the heights,

And all the air was wet,

So pondering that, I knew by rights,

That snow was what we’d get.

I’ve fluffed my feathers up a tad

To keep the warmth inside,

I’ll check the depth of snow we’ve had,

And take a chilly glide.

I hope you’re hibernating, all

You creatures of the hills,

You must have known this snow could fall,

It’s testing all our wills.

 

But worry not, the rain will pour,

And wash the ice away,

Then soothing days will evermore,

Bring sunshine every day.

 


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Carnival or Fasching

Brigitte and me in the Fasching parade.

At this time of year, forty days before Easter, the Lent season begins. Supposedly, you will give up meat during this time (carne = meat, val = goodbye) , but it has evolved to include giving up the vice of your choice, usually rich foods or cigarettes, during these forty days. Before the time of restraint begins, the carnival days leading up to Ash Wednesday are an excuse for people to go wild, dress up, and overindulge one last time.

When I was six years old my family left Germany to come to Canada, but earlier in that year, when I was still five, my parents relented to my wheedling and whining and allowed me to take part in the little Mardi Gras parade our very small town hosted. I remember the worry about whether I would be all right and not get lost if they allowed me to dress up and be in the parade. My little brother, being two years younger than me, was not allowed to go. I felt very important to be allowed to be in the parade as long as I promised to hold the hand of my older cousin Brigitte, who was about eleven that year.

Although I’m female, I was dressed as a Dutch Boy in a blue outfit (I preferred wearing pants anyway and it was more practical). Cousin Brigitte was a fly agaric mushroom (red outfit with white dots).

My father took my little brother by the hand and followed along on the sidewalk as Brigitte and I walked in the big parade. To this day I’m thankful that he took pictures along the way. He took this one of my brother and me before the parade.

Notice the snow on the ground. It was, after all, February.

If you’re wondering what’s on our cheeks, this was my mother’s standard way of doing face painting. She took a very red lipstick and drew hearts on our cheeks. It was her way of saying, “I love you.”

So happy Carnival, Fasching, Mardi Gras, or whatever you want to call this time.

 


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The Joy of Light and Warmth

So good to see the sun again!

I’d almost forgotten the wonderful glow

That sunshine can bring to the world after snow,

Natural therapy soaks into me,

Warming my spirits, survival is key.

 

I should have flown south, but decided to stay,

And when it got colder, each day after day,

I doubted the wisdom of staying in place,

Depending so much on the humans’ good grace.

 

The sugary feeders they offer get cold,

And often I knew that I had to be bold,

To drink icy syrup and fluff up my down,

Just trying to hold any heat to be found.

 

But wait, what is this? It’s a feeder with heat,

The nectar is warm, I should stretch out my feet,

To rest them and thaw them, to get through the day,

But simply to drink soothing warmth is okay. 

 

Today I was lucky and felt oh so good,

As sunny rays warmed me while perched on this wood,

It can’t be much longer before it is spring,

And whirring so freely, I’ll  joyfully sing.

 

 


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Then and Now

Ski hill lit up in a magical spell,

Dreamy night setting that suits skiers well,

Silence is broken so gently and slow

By boards that grip sideways and crunch on the snow.

 

Icy cold particles stinging the cheek,

As windburn sets in, it is not for the meek,

Face feeling fresher against the wind’s bite,

Small price to pay to descend in the night.

 

Carving a path through the crisp mountain trail,

Chilling and thrilling, a joy without fail,

Swooping and sweeping around in the glow,

Joyfully living and breathing in snow.

 

That was then. This is now.

Cool breeze arrives on the ski hill next morn,

Rounding out edges to make them look worn,

Moisture seeps into each cranny and nook,

Skiers raise eyebrows with questioning look.

 

Where are the lights and the softly lit snow?

Who let this fog in, and why won’t it go?

Damp and encroaching, the low cloud just sits,

Making me thankful I’m wearing my mitts.

 

One thing is good about groping through mist,

Stunts can be tried that I just can’t resist,

No one can watch me or see as I fall

Ass over tea kettle once and for all.

Oops! Should have specified this poem as rated “R.”

(Sigh!) But “Bum over tea kettle” just doesn’t do it.

It would be too much like hearing a macho man say “whoops-a-daisy.”

 


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Now and Then

Against all odds, the cluster of daffodils that pops up near the fir trees every year, has decided to make a dash for the light of day.

For each of the flowers, the bigger photo is now, and the smaller photos at the side are what they will look like later this spring.

It’s our job to welcome spring,

We’re the first to do our thing,

What a let down it would be,

If there were no daffs to see.

 

 

 

 

Irises popping up.

Iris and her girlie gaggle,

Push the dirt, don’t want to straggle,

Iris girls put on a show,

Can-can dancers in a row.

 

 

Oriental poppies beginning to grow already.

 

Oriental poppy leaves

Grow in spurts, the ground upheaves,

Happy that they’re fenced right in

See the misery of their kin.

 

 

 

 

Below are the not-so-lucky ones.

Poppy Sisters, maimed we see,

Just outside the fence so free,

Bunnies come along at night,

Eat them up, bite after bite.


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Harry and Harriet

Harry and Harriet are hairy woodpeckers who live in the trees near our house. Sometimes they come closer for a visit to check out the bird feeders, but what they really like to eat is anything that is small and moves, usually under the bark of trees,  rotten or otherwise.

They’re not that fussy. Fruit, berries, and nuts make them happy too. They’re generally not seedeaters, but I was wondering if Harry was interested in that sunflower seed he has wedged in between the boards just by his right foot.

Harriet has one by her foot too, but it’s hard to say if she put the seed there or if a nuthatch was working on it and Harriet came over to check it out.

I sang a song for Harriet,

I like to call by trilling,

So far, she hasn’t noticed yet,

I’d hoped she’d find it thrilling.

 

I said, “Let’s check the feeders out,

We might just find a morsel.”

She gave me an indignant shout,

“I have to watch my torso.”


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Leaving the Hills

Hi! I’m Robbie Robin. I want to explain why I’m down here at the lower elevations.

It got darn cold up in the hills where we’ve been hanging out for several weeks. When a dusting of snow covered the ground and froze, it was harder to get the bugs and worms out of the ground. Most of the berries were already long gone.

So we decided to come down closer to sea level and check out the gardens and people’s back yards.

Did you count us? It’s a bit blurry but see how many of my friends you can find.

I’ve been here before so I got right down to it. I know the worms hide under the leaves that mulch the garden. Check it out and you’ll see how I find them.

Flicking dead leaves all around,

Until yummy bugs are found,

Eat them quick before they stray,

As they rush to get away.

 

 


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The Caves of Dirou

Having camped for almost a month near the small town of Kardamili, south of Kalamata (of olive fame), Greece,  the Captain and I decided to take our VW camper van for a ride to the very south tip of Greece. On the way, we stopped at the caves of Pyrgos Dirou.

In those long ago days, the entrance fee for a 40-minute boat ride and a short walk inside the cave was about $5.50 Cdn. Now it is about $27 Cdn.

As the Captain and I sat in the flat-bottomed tour boat, a guide paddled us through the cave, reminding us now and then to duck our heads down to avoid getting our blocks knocked off by a stalactite. The tour was creepy and awesome at the same time. Cables ran along under the water to provide lighting all the way through the cave. That was fine, but I couldn’t help thinking of the primitive wiring I’d seen on our travels through Greece. What if the lights went out? We hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight with us.

Fixing the wiring Greek style

Back in the cave, an elderly Greek woman in a black dress and a hat with a netted veil, sat in front of us in the boat. She was probably only about 70 but we were less than half her age. In spite of signs throughout the cave saying not to speak too loudly, she turned to talk to us about the fengari.  What the heck was a fengari?

Apparently, it was the moon. We definitely didn’t see a moon in the cave, but this friendly woman, most likely a widow,  was perhaps inspired by the reflections of the lamps lighting the cave. Maybe the soothing sway of the boat reminded her of happier times when she saw us, the smiling young couple seated behind her.

Suddenly, in a good strong voice, she began to sing a romantic Greek song about the fengari. As the tour guide paddled us along, I chewed my nails about the possibility of the ceiling coming down on us, and the Captain reached up several times to  push the nice little old lady’s head gently to the side to save her from hitting it on one stalactite after another. She didn’t stop singing, but smiled her “thank you” at him each time.

At one point we got out of the boat (there were two or three boats travelling behind each other) to step out onto a trail for a short walk through the dry part of the cave.

When we came back, we were loaded into a boat for the return trip to the cave’s entrance. Unfortunately, when it was my turn to board, there was no space left for the Captain. They assured me that there would be another boat in a few minutes to bring him back, but I refused to go without him. It was not a place to be abandoned even for a few minutes. I only remember it because they argued so hard, trying to fill that one space. We insisted though and waited together for the next boat.

Although it was an experience that I remember fondly even decades later, it was a relief to get out of the cave and breathe again. My claustrophobia had been put on hold for long enough.