Foxglove and Tiny Fish

Flowers_Jul17 (47 of 96)
The foxglove and the poem (story) are total strangers.

Early rays
Piercing through morning haze
Bouncing skyward
Off the blue liquid mirror

Lost in thought
Pulled from my reverie
Mirage or trickery

Like a gentle shower
Hundreds of tiny circles
Perturbing the water

Here one second
Gone in a flash
There with a dash

Breakfast for tiny pike
Watching, eager to strike
Tiny wings and legs above
All it took was one bite
——-
I really liked the foxglove

p.s. If you’re still reading at this point, you probably wonder what the foxglove has to do with the story. Well, nothing really.
I never took a photo of the lake… I wish I had my camera with me, alas I didn’t.
But I had a photo of a foxglove. That’s it.

Unforgettable

Flowers_Jul17 (58 of 96)

Hot sunny days
Gave way to moist windless nights
Millions of minuscule droplets
Condensing on her skin
For the lucky to admire
In the soft early-dawn light
Tiny goosebumps like shimmering gems

The gentle morning breeze
Had dried some petals already
Creating silky duvet-covered pastel-coloured petals
Reminiscent of the fine hair on the nape of your neck
Your intoxicating perfume
Made me giddy
How to take it with me
Steal it until the end of time
Inhaling endlessly
A futile effort; my lungs filled
Sniffing repeatedly only made me light-headed

One last breath
Reaching the depths of my body
One more look
Imprinting every inch of my soul
I fear your colours
Will have long faded
And your petals floated to the ground
When I return
Alas too late to see you again
Unforgettable…

Familiar Sights

Montreal Skyline at Dusk
The Montreal skyline at dusk, seen from the south shore.

Some things you never forget…
At the edge of the Saint-Lawrence,
The shadow of Mont Royal at dusk,
Montreal’s skyline painted on the sky.
Bridges stretching over the river:
Mercier, Champlain, Jacques-Cartier.
Umbilical cords, life lines of every day;
Links to memories of our youth…

Where we learned to skip stones on the water
Under the watchful eye of my father.
Giant laker ships sailing by, steaming on
We’d jump when their horn blared, scared.
Cast a red and white spoon, treble-hooked,
Fishing for the biggest northern pike,
But settled for a colourful perch, or the crappie,
Hook, line and sinker swallowed forever;
Long walk home, fishing pole on our shoulders.

 

Capturing the Moment, by Daniel Perron