Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  Moon of the Beaver The end of November Brings the Moon of the Beaver, The time for the animal to retire To his lodge with full coat and larder. Just in time, for it’s also known As the Digging Moon, When animals, not as enterprising as the beaver, Till fallen leaves for meager provender. Another title for this full moon of November Is the Frost Moon, an apt moniker, For, in a month when even sunshine seems colder, Night’s dim light, even when full, will never do any better.   

  Mamihlapinatapei A meaningful look shared by two people expressing mutual, unstated feelings.                                                                                                                                                     From Howard Rheingold’s book, “They Have a Word for It” The world is full of lonely people waiting to make the first move. Anonymous When eyes meet, the eyes of two fromTierra del Fuego, there is a word in the native lingo, for the look that says what neither at the moment can profess, a glimpse that expresses the unexpressed. A gaze it becomes that betrays the attraction, a longing look of fascination. a gander that says “I so hope you will initiate,  and state what we both want, but right now can only await.” For this enchantment to ensue , do you have to be from Tierra del Fuego? Hardly no, for around the world eyes are aglow. But so much is implied in the word “mamihlapinatapei,” that must be t

  No-Go’s When time goes backwards Up is down Fire burns cold Water is dry 2 + 2 = 5 Trump tells the truth

  The Long Night However long the night, the dawn will break.                                                          -An African proverb The Earth in the north tilts away from the warmth, and towards the dark of winter. We, the people in the dark, are now set apart by the virulence of the virus. Weary, somber, as brooding as the night, infected or not, we’re apart. Worse, thousands and thousands breathe by machine, their sad night so often eternal. When normally we’d fly to be by their side, quarantined, we’re thwarted.. What to do from this deep abyss to purge the pall of pandemic?  Right! We fly, we fly, we fly to the light, and look to ourselves to change it. We look to our heart, our broad-winged heart, to rise above the long night. For there resides the Spirit, the courage, there shines the holy light! 

  Equal.   Same rights. Same responsibilities. Same opportunities. Same advancement. Same pay. Same education. Same justice. Same housing. Same food stores. Same health care. For Blacks. Same for Whites.  Same for All Others.   For You.  Same for Me.  Same for All Others. Humans all.  All equal. 

Snowflakes   Each snowflake is a snowflake, and one unique, a hexagon, but unlike any other, lovely in its own way. And, with billions of others, their crystalline arms joined, together they create a shining, downy blanket over the land. So, too, each of us is human, and one-of-a-kind, distinctive, incomparable, beautiful. Because of our differences - our race, religion, age, gender, ability, our life experience -    each of us is a person with a special gift to give.  As we give and receive each gift, together we weave the living mantle of shared humanity.

  First Snow A torrent of snow is showering down Straight from low clouds to the brightening ground, Not a whisper of wind, just softness, no sound. What did the Artist’s crystals create for my eye? A whitening world of earth, air, and sky, Aglow with chalk dust snow on the fly. The animals knew it was to be snowing, The birds at the feeders busily dining, Dropping seeds to the squirrels happily gleaning. Even the fox appeared hurriedly hunting, At the edge of the yard hungrily prowling. Though the light snow will surely soon disappear, For now, the scene is one I hold dear. I’ve seen another snowfall, I’ve lived another year.

  Fear Discombobulated If you thought you were a little uneasy about the state of the world these days, try on some of these fearful burdens that we humans carry around. Just remember, unless you have a bear in your backyard, fear is mostly in your head. A bumper sticker I’ve seen says it: “Don’t believe everything you think.” The following is an attempt at humor. While lightening up in my life, I’ve found that humor helps to thaw the iciest anxiety, as does honesty, opening-up and sharing one’s fears with a compassionate person, such as a therapist. Here are some dilemmas phobic people might face... If you have alektorophobia (fear of chickens) and agyiophobia (fear of crossing the street), should you avoid the chicken crossing the street by crossing to the other side - scary - or stand your ground, face your fear of the chicken, and dispute with him why he had to cross to your side? If you have blennophobia (fear of dirt) and ablutophobia (fear of bathing), should you shrink-wrap you

 Arduously Deciduous Our maple, it’s November. You now can take a well-deserved rest from your year of… Budding, and Leafing, and Growing to the sky, then Blazing the yard with fall color. Now, without a leaf left, thank you for your year’s work.  

  Survivor A delicate tree outside my window, near naked now, for now is naked November. Its twiggy branches  shiver in the wind, a few red leaves left.  I like this feather of a tree for its audacity, despite its fragility, to survive the cold, cold winters.  

  Pandemic Pandemonium Me, at any given moment... Peaceful or pent-up Pleasant or petulant Playful or pesky Patient or pigheaded Praiseworthy or profane Productive or plodding Purposeful or powerless Perceptive or puzzled Placid or painful Profound or pretentious Prolific or pending Passionate or passive Peripatetic or prisoned Positive or perverse   For a poet, pencil and paper provides pause and peace.

  Colors First Light of the Morning, on the horizon, a hopeful glow  Sky of Heaven, a boundless, beautiful blue Soil of Earth, a blessed, bountiful black Leaves of the Fields and Forests, an enchanting expanse of emerald Water of the Wellspring, a sparkling, sweet silver Light of the Setting Sun, a scintillating, smokey scarlet Glow of the Moon, a pale lantern yellow Our World, a feast of color for hungry eyes

  Kids Say What They See They call it concrete thinking. Sounds heavy...but also humorous. George Mom, driving past a restaurant: “George, look. It’s George’s Steak House.” George: “It’s made out of wood, not steak!” While in a store… George, referring to a nearby, portly individual: “That man is HUGE!” He’s very, very BIG! He is GIGANTIC!” Mom, embarrassed: “George, please stop! You’re killing me!” George: “No, you won’t die for a long, long time.” Connor At McDonald’s: “Why do they call it a drive-through?  You don’t drive through anything.”                                                              Later… Mom: “It’s fun to be with you!” Connor: “Yes, that’s right.”

  Spirit Many years ago… There was an old oak. It grew on a bluff, overlooking a Great Lake. It was tall and strong, steadily growing season after season, deeply rooted, with its branches reaching toward the Sun. One day a lonely young man, burdened with the cares of life,  sat down on its massive root, leaned up against its trunk, and gazed out over the lake. He liked the tree’s ancient presence. Its branches seemed to be raised in reverence, and its root seemed to ground him. He began to meditate, and his spirits rose. For months and years thereafter,  he’d come to the tree to meditate silently. One day, while doing so, the man, no longer young, asked aloud, “Why am I here on Earth?” Just then a whisper of wind blew through the oak leaves, and he seemed to hear within their rustle a voice, saying, “I reach out to the Light.”  At that moment an energy rose up through the root of the man's body, through his trunk, and his upraised limbs.  The man had attained enlightenment. 

  The Great and the Grand I hike the Canyon, rim to floor and back in a day. Where I come from, the beauty is in the Lakes, named Great, a region of crystal waters, fertile soils, and verdant forests. Here and now, I’m hiking the Canyon, named Grand, a land of rock, of soaring mesas and buttes. A chasm dry, but, at its floor, the roar of the River, the Colorado River. One so powerful, so insistent, that it carved a wonder in solid rock. I cool my feet in its green waters, before climbing back up.  

  Moon Joke I say to the Moon... Hey there, New Moon, As you set in the sky, When you pass-by the Sun rising high, What do you say to the gleaming Sun, Good morning, Sir, or a pun for fun? Moon answers... I stayed up all night to see the Sun. Then it dawned on me. I disappeared, I’m bummed. The joke made Sun laugh as Moon set with a smile, off on his journey of a zillion dark miles.

 A Glade of Dreams Today I walked in a glimmering green glade, Its trees dancing in the breeze, And, at its center, a pond glittering in the morning sun. I sat on its shore and saw there a pair of mated wood ducks, Their wheezy call belying their feathery glory. I left the avian lovers there to climb a ridge, and spied, Hidden in its shadow, a doe and her fawn at water's edge. My walk today was dream-like,  For the glade and pond that drew me in was a painting, A canvas of two dimensions with a feeling of three, And even a fourth, my wide-eyed imagination.  

  Still More Haiku What to do today To keep safe from the virus? Walk the pebble beach We will get through this As long as we have what’s good Plenty chocolate Virus, stay away Disinfectant is coming Two can play that game Corona, teach us  To care for and help others The world needs it now Go to the Great Lake Feel its power in the waves Its healing presence The water in you Is the water in the Lake Keep it clean, pristine A new friend next door We’re the new kids on the block They’re here forty years This five-seven-five  Writing is as easy as Falling            off               a                 log Contemplate the hand An amazing tool for good Lend it to someone One finger writing Hunt-and-peck, my keyboard style It works for the birds For those who read this: Stay home. Stay safe and healthy. Stop the viral spread Woodchuck, you are up From sleeping all winter long Now running so fast? What prompts you, turkey, To run across the highway? Oh, I see her now A day of beauty Greenery

  Haiku at Navarino Million B.C.? Pterodactyls in the sky? No, it’s sandhill cranes Overhead a flock A cloud of many sandhills Maybe a thousand Grey as its namesake Flows through the woods, swift, silent That old Wolf River Hiked the birding trail It was more like a river A “trail” for the birds

   Hai (Flying) Ku Familiar things Disappear in swirling mist The Earth is hiding No rabbits, squirrels Where did the animals go? Is the fox about? A new visitor Waddling by the bird feeder Colorful wood duck Glance out my window Squint into the murky night Four deer in the yard Scanning the backwoods Catch a glimpse of a white tail Attached to a deer Except for his tail Deer blends into the background Almost camouflaged Birdseed on the ground Squirrels eat so much of it Someday may sprout wings One duck now grazes The other alert, stands watch Wood ducks are good mates Colors pierce the dark What is that in the shadows? Wood ducks have breakfast Trees filter the light Rabbits in the violets Beautiful sunrise Frequent visitors Waddlers: mallards and wood ducks, Nest on backwoods pond Seemingly fragile Yet strong in the brisk breezes Spider webs sparkle Squirrels and rabbits All eat the fallen birdseed Will birds eat today? Squirrelly rabbit Racing, racing back and forth Tries to impres