Becoming a Naturalist (Part 44), a short prose-poem by Jack Phillips
Now summer at most is slung behind her loom runs short on day length a bashful girl her feet in the water spins lines and loops in waxing she weaves in waning comes unspun. But what does she do when it splits down the autumn not egg nor toadlet a half-moon tadpole with legs?
Equinox two-faced laughs just this way and that night as fat as day the golden orb devouring her midnight web at dawn I will gather strings in my beard so let me go first on the trail. We will replace those sticky lines with verses tumbled and strung the stretch of our musings.
Equinox Waking the Wild: writing poetry, walking silently, and a little light yoga in the Loess Hills. Sunday morning September 29th at Waubonsie State Park. See details under the orb weaver below.
October Saunter: walking wildly after Oliver and Thoreau. Sunday morning October 6th at Waubonsie State Park. Contact Jack at firstname.lastname@example.org.
(September spun, photo by Robert Smith.)