Dreams on a Rock Ledge

Someone told me that April is National Poetry Month, so I thought I would post a poem by my younger brother, Robert. Only a few years ago did I discover that he had been writing poetry. I have known him as a master science teacher and naturalist but recently he showed me a little collection of poems he has written, most based on his great love of nature. He claims that he wrote these poems to pass the time while proctoring classroom exams but it seems to me that they reflect a lifetime of experiencing nature at close hand.  Here is one that had a particular meaning for my wife and I as she celebrated her birthday yesterday. Below is Rob's explanatory note.

She

sat on the rock ledge

in her youth

and dreamed

now

in old age

the

same

rising sun

reflected off her radiant face

for a moment

the trials of

a long life

evaporated

 like morning dew

she

spied

a monarch butterfly

perched

on a nearby tree limb

she

sat motionless on the ledge

peering

into a

withering

field of goldenrod

gazing

into the future

butterfly goldenrod and

she

wondering

if there are any dreams

left

to be dreamt 

I never know what will inspire me to write a poem or a story.  Something might just catch my eye at the right moment.  My brother, Frank, and his wife, Linda, often visited my Aunt Rose’s log cabin in the Berkshires after they were married almost 60 years ago.   Now that I am in charge of the log cabin, they often visit my wife and me at the cabin.  We all have a great fondness for the cabin and its surroundings.  When Frank and Linda arrived on a recent clear, blue sky, sunny, Autumn day, a camera in my brain snapped an unforgettable photograph.  Linda walked to the log cabin, and then walked up the stone steps, but instead of going into the cabin, rested on a stone ledge that extends from the outside wall of the log cabin.  She placed her back against the logs and extended her legs on the rock ledge and let the Sun warm her body.  I smiled to myself knowing I would someday write a poem based on her actions.  I had been inspired.  I did not ask her, but I am certain she has rested on that rock ledge many times in the past.  I began to wonder what she might be thinking about at that moment, and what she might have thought about years ago when she rested there.

I wonder what the butterfly might be thinking about after she has laid her eggs.  I wonder what the goldenrod that has provided nectar and pollen for honeybees might be thinking about as its seeds have finally been shed.    Everyone has dreams when they are young, now older, I wonder if I have enough dreams left.

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