Ghostly Echoes

Footsteps echo like ghosts.
Dust clogs the air, and
breezes rattle webs then
spin brown leaves
into dry devils.
Sentry swallows
dive from eaves,
startling us into
thumping dance steps:
one forward and two back.
A tiny beak chirps
from a mud cup.
The mother snaps
mosquitoes from midair,
hovering by the nest
like a tiny dragon,
eyes aflame with purpose.
We pace forward cautiously,
no longer sure of our primacy.
We emerge in sunshine,
glad to walk quietly.

Note: We may build the bridge, but the folk who live there own it. Do you ever feel the past hanging heavily over a place?

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

August 6, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

21 Comments

White Mountain Sunset

Hungry plants stretch
toward the dwindling light
along Kancamagus Highway,
a tongue-tying, twisting
New Hampshire byway.
The setting sun gilds
wildflower meadows.
The air is crisp and cold.
Birds and squirrels nest;
mosquitoes buzz and
dodge dragonflies.
Beetles scurry for rocks
and porcupines waddle
through ferns, quills tucked.
A stork pauses in the shallow river
alongside the cars, eying the current.
The water is aflame with sunset,
in shades of rose, umber and carmine.
Pine scent intermingles with
blooming goldenrod and early asters.
Blue mountains fade to gray.
Tomorrow is another day.

Posted by

Brenda Davis Harsham

Posted on

July 21, 2015

Posted under

Photography, Poetry

Comments

35 Comments

Forest Spirits

Forest spirits linger high and
wonder at the changing sky.
Sky blue interlaces with clouds
above summer mountains blue.
Below, dark gorges are punctuated
by sharp granite shoulders, themselves
overlaid by softening moss quilts.

The still quiet is
broken by the first raindrop,
a mouse scurries for cover,
and the Lost River roars welcome.

I lose my worries at the feet of granite giants,
feel them washed free by rain hunting
the Lost River, hidden deep underground.
Its voice emerges from caves,
behind glacial boulders and over waterfalls.
Even the forest spirits are silenced.

That powerful roar
intrigues and captivates.
In the waterfall is the full fury.
What were my worries?
They pale beside river spirits,
kinfolk to the forest spirits.
The Lost River surges,
its voice amplified by
last night’s thundershowers
coupled with today’s sprinkles.
My spirit expands.

Note: These photographs were taken today at the Lost River Gorge. Over 1300 steps led into and around the gorge, taking us on a hide-and-seek journey exploring the Lost River and its many secret places.