wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.


47 Comments

Reggie Raccoon

Apologies for the fuzzy photo. In the middle of the night, I took this picture in a big hurry through the dining room window while the Captain shone a flashlight at this guy from the deck. Seconds later the bandit was gone.

 

Reggie saunters through the yard,

Looking for a treat,

Doesn’t want to work too hard,

Tired are his feet.

 

Sneaking ‘cross the lawn at night,

Hears a spaniel bark,

Though he jumps up in a fright,

Tiptoes through the dark.

 

Motion sensor light comes on,

“Oh, which way to go?

Hurry, get across that lawn,

Feet are much too slow.”

 

Soon he comes up to a tree,

Ponders his escape,

Opens wide his eyes to see,

And his mouth’s agape.

 

No more danger, no more dog,

Woodshed is quite near,

If he makes it to that log,

Nothing more to fear.

 

“Yikes! What is that brilliant light?

Shining right on me,

Wish I’d scampered out of sight,

Up that big fir tree.”

 

“Nothing else to do but smile,

Hope the photo’s good.

Then I’m getting out of Dodge,

Right behind this wood.”


42 Comments

Triton

Going fishing this summer? You’ll want the blessing of Triton, son of Poseidon and Amphitrite, the Greek god and goddess of the sea. But god or not, no fisherman is lucky all the time, as you will see if you read on. Looks like he might have a bit of trouble aiming with the crooked tines on his trident.

Triton dwells beneath the sea,

In a house of gold,

Fisherman he wants to be,

Trident makes him bold.

 

When the fish were scarce one day,

Down he swam so deep,

Brought his conch up to the bay,

Called, and fish did leap.

 

As they neared his special rock,

Triton aimed his spear,

Fish eyes ogled him in shock,

Saying, “Dear, oh, dear!”

 

Triton flung his trident wide,

Missed them by a mile,

As the fish swam past his side,

They couldn’t help but smile.

 

 

 


38 Comments

The Nice Light

At a certain time of the evening, the last rays of the sun paint a golden glow on the tall firs. We call it “the nice light” when that happens. The morning light is similar, but the glow isn’t as warm as the evening light.

Stand tall, fellows, ready then?

Here comes that nice light again.

Soak it up and feel its glow,

Soon enough, cold winds will blow.

 

Soothing warmth and light for growth,

What good luck to have them both,

Cloudless evenings are the best,

As the sun sinks in the west.

 

When the cold days come again,

We will stand through wind and rain.

Strength to keep harsh days at bay,

Comes from warming light today.


42 Comments

Wilma and Woody

Hi, I’m Woody. Not like Woody Woodpecker. Woody, like short for Woodrow.

Have you heard the news? There’s a big food fest at Anneli’s.

This old stump has been here at least twenty years. I bet there are some well-established bugs inside.

Oof! Wa-a-a-ay inside.

Okay. There’s got to be an easier way.

Maybe I’ll check on Wilma and see if she’s found anything that’s easier to get to.

 

Woodrow, Woodrow,

Checks the wood growth,

Looking for some bugs.

Sticks his beak in,

Bugs he’s findin’,

Spears them and he tugs.

 

 

They’re elusive,

Not conducive,

To a snacky lunch.

Wilma beckons,

Food, he reckons,

Least that is his hunch.

 

 

Tried the stump here,

Bugs have no fear,

He can’t reach that far.

Wilma eats well,

That he can tell,

Finds more food by far.

 

 

Woody sweet talks,

Wilma just gawks,

Gives up her good spot.

This is great stuff,

Searching’s not tough,

Wilma, thanks a lot.

*****

 

Do you like music? Why not go to Spotify then type in The Birkenna Project in the Search bar.  Spotify – Web Player: Music for everyone

Or go to Amazon’s Music sites and do a search for The Birkenna Project. Look for three songs newly uploaded to the album with three more to come soon.


50 Comments

Flossie Flicker

“Sit still, Flossie.  I see Anneli out there with her camera again. Don’t move.”

“Oh, whew! She’s just taking pictures of her poppies. That IS a nice one though, isn’t it?”

“I hear ya, I hear ya. You don’t care about the flowers…. You’ll just have to be patient and I’ll find a bug for you.”

“Oh, this motherhood is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“But then they grow up and they make you proud. Must keep that in mind.”

 

Flossie Flicker flies around,

Making that familiar sound,

FLICK-a, FLICK-a, FLICK, she cries,

Mother’s tired and she sighs.

 

“Feeding Flossie all day long,

I’m exhausted, not so strong, 

But the child is growing fast

She’ll be beautiful at last.

 

“All my work will be worthwhile,

And I know her dad will smile,

Saying she’s a gorgeous girl,

Best darn flicker in the world.”

 

*****

Do you like music? Why not go to Spotify then type in The Birkenna Project in the Search bar.  Spotify – Web Player: Music for everyone

Or go to Amazon’s Music sites and do a search for The Birkenna Project. Look for three songs newly uploaded to the album with three more to come soon.


34 Comments

An Evening Promise

Riled up clouds go lumbering by,

Stirring up unsettled sky,

Wispy, misty moisture passes,

Light diffused upon its masses.

 

Sun’s last efforts streaming low,

Just before it lets us go,

Into darkness for some hours,

As the clouds spit out their showers.

 

Promises of warmer rays,

Shining down in coming days,

Though Sun sleeps behind the hill,

It will rise again, it will.

 

Morning rays revitalize,

More than we can realize,

But for now it says good night,

Telling all of us, “Sleep tight.”


24 Comments

What They Are Not

Lichens are weird “things.” Wiki says they “arise” from algae or cyanobacteria (bluish bacteria also known as blue-green algae). And yet lichens are not algae, as such. They live and grow among the filaments of fungi, but they are not fungi.

They come in many different colours and forms. They may look like moss, and sometimes are even called moss (reindeer moss, Iceland moss), but they are not moss.

They may look like they have tiny leaves, but they are not plants.

They have no roots to absorb water or nutrients, but they manufacture their own nutrition through photosynthesis.

When they grow on plants (like on the bark of trees) they are not parasites. They “do their own thing,” just using the plant as support.

The lichens in this photo are on a large rock near the creek mentioned in my previous post – the one that is foaming at the mouth.

 

I liken the lichen to plants,

But then I look at them askance.

The algae have similar features,

But lichen are different creatures.

 

 

Some fungi look like them a bit,

But not everything is a fit,

Although they may look like a moss,

They’re not and I feel at a loss.

 

 

Organic creations they are,

Found throughout our nations afar,

With features distinct and unique,

These grew on a rock by the creek.

 

 

So just what they are, I don’t know,

But see how they put on a show,

And next time you’re hiking or biking,

You’ll likely encounter some lichen.

 


34 Comments

Foaming at the Mouth

No, it’s not a rabid animal. It’s just a creek flowing into the lake, but at its mouth, there is a lot of foam.

The frothy bubbles swirled and flowed in sweeping circles, making patterns on the lake.

This is clean, clean water, but for some reason the foam formed when the water splashed over the rocks at the mouth of the creek, and stayed frothy for quite some distance into the lake.

Foam like icing on a cake,

Lightly drifting on the lake,

Swirling, flowing, curling round,

Who knows where it may be bound?

 

Lacy curtain for a fish,

Saves him landing in a dish,

But when he jumps in the air.

Foamy mustache he will wear.


40 Comments

Quentin Quail

The quince is not quite blooming yet, but I needed a picture of it for this post, so I took one from a couple of years ago.

This poor lonely quail is looking for a mate. Not sure there is one in the neighbourhood for him to find, but I made one up for him.

I quail at the thought of the poem I am going to inflict on you today.

Quentin Quail is on a quest,

He quills a questionnaire,

Querying and quizzing all,

To find a queen so fair.

Quite a queue around the quince,

For lady quails so quaint,

Topknot quivering in the wind,

Our Quentin’s feeling faint.

“That’s queer,” he quips so quietly,

“She can’t be from Quebec,

And yet she calls with quality

Out of her pretty bec.”

Quentin quicksteps forward now,

He’s feeling like a prince,

Quavering he offers quiche,

And she will offer quints.

His family quota is fulfilled,

His hopes have not been quashed,

The former quandary is solved,

Of cares, his hands are washed.

Quentin will become a dad,

Of kiddies eight, nine, ten,

But now he wonders just what kind

Of quagmire he is in.