Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  Heaven’s Shore We've been here peaceful times before The sound of waves lapping the shore The splash of the paddles as we explore As through the water the boat’s prow bores There’s silent water, too, cloud water in the blue And in the mist o’er the waves sun kissed Through lotus water the boat seems to pour As it glides through the water garden just offshore Then the cry of the gull as overhead it soars The croak of the heron, as startled, it lifts o’er Immersed in the water world, I feel alive to my core One with the water, along heaven’s shore

  Fragile: Handle With Affirmation As the sun rises through the filigree of trees, Everything I see seems fragile. Spider webs flicker in and out. Fog dissipates. Even Big Bird, the deer at the feeder, looks cold, sickly, hobbling. Or maybe I’m just projecting my aches and pains on him. Spiders, keep spinning.  Fog, don’t worry; you’ll be back. Big Bird, eat your fill; you need it. Me? Stretch that back, old boy. And think positive: you are resilient. 

  Along the Trail of the Sun Eastern sky aglow Sunlight diffused in the clouds Good start of the day It rises through trees Every day further North Warms the cold country Sun melts sugar clouds Makes of them blazing pudding In a sauce of blue Sky is azure blue Floating with cottony tufts My head in the clouds Thank you’s to the Sun For such a glorious day Come back anytime

  Haiku for March 31st Trees sway in the breeze Sturdy and resilient But not forever

  A Butterfly in March On Mosquito Hill hiking trails today, we saw a pair of deer, sandhill cranes, and a snake. But the big surprise was a butterfly, and a most unusual one, a Mourning Cloak. It appears so early as an adult, because it’s a butterfly that hibernates! It finds a winter shelter in a narrow slit in a tree, sleeps through the frigid months protected by the glycol in its system, and emerges ready to give life to another generation. And it’s a beautiful butterfly to boot, wings a rusty brown with a border of yellow, dotted with blue. To the one who named it Mourning Cloak, its colors conjured up a garment of mourning.  To us it was different, a harbinger of a beautiful Wisconsin spring.  

  Haiku for March 30th Moon glow through windows Film noir in my living room Where’s Humphrey Bogart?

  You Matter Black lives Latino lives Asian lives Pacific Islander lives Uyghur lives Moslem lives Jewish lives Hindu lives Buddhist lives Christian lives Native American lives White European lives White American lives Indigenous people lives All other lives All matter We all matter Some people - racists, neo-nazis, white supremacists - think that others’ lives don’t matter, and show it by bullying them, intimidating them, and/or physically assaulting them. They do this really because they think that they themselves don’t matter. They were told they didn’t matter as children by parents who neglected them, belittled them, and/or beat them. In their own misguided view, they think that the only way to feel elevated themselves is to put others down - do to others what was done to them as children: deny them their humanity, call them slurs, hurt them. Is there any hope for these sad individuals? It takes serious emotional work, but some do recover. They do so by getting the poison out o...

  Haiku for March 29th Full moon shines brightly Little creatures see better But so does the owl

  Tales Nature Tells The cobble beach tells his story of an ancient shore. Once a rocky headland, fragmented by the grind of a glacier, Washed smooth over millennia by the inexorable force of waves-on-stone, And one day to be ground to sand. Cobble beach says, “You can stroll along my beach, and make one of me skip on the water.”  The river tells her tale of currents fast and slow. At first, snow melt in the watershed pours off the highlands into the coursing stream, Cascades down roaring rapids, joins with tributaries which fill to the top of the banks. Downstream the land flattens and the river slows, meanders, forms ox bows, Eventually meeting the sea. River says, “Paddle your canoe on my waters. I will carry you to far-off lands.” The tree tells his story of earth and sky. A tale rooted in deep black earth, Of a river of sap flowing up from roots, to trunk, to branch, to crown, Of branches reaching for the sun, Of a blaze of autumn glory, his fallen leaves flying like bird...

  Out Like A Lion March, they say, goes “in like a lion, out like a lamb.” Well, this late March, the lion crawled out of the woods to cover us in snow. Climate change? Deniers won’t believe it until there’s real lions abroad in Wisconsin, Real lions who floated over from Africa on ice floes from the melting polar ice. Which is to say deniers will never understand a matter not of belief but of scientific fact. Poor naive lambs. Or are they oil baron wolves in sheep’s clothing? 

  Boundary Waters A bit of a misnomer. Here nature knows no boundaries between nations, lines that only humans recognize.  A shining water wilderness. Myriad lakes to explore by canoe, to quench one’s thirst for the real. Another lake just a portage away, a water trail seemingly endless. What awaits your discovery? A mother moose and her calf wade the shallows, heading toward an island, safer from wolves. A rock headland, an ancient chapel for those living here in the old times, A place where spirits dwell, given homage by images in red ochre on a canvas of stone. A whitetail buck surprised by this unfamiliar two-legs, snorts, challenges. Loons sing their songs of the North: wails, yodels, nervous laughs. Mergansers, so dissimilar in appearance they prove opposites attract, dive for fish. A beaver crosses the bow of the canoe, smacks his tail to warn others, then dives. A red squirrel hangs out with you under the tarp in the rain, no doubt attracted by your granola. On a deep ...

  Haiku for March 28th Early spring morning Writer, will words flow today? No problem for Owl

  Indwellings Warm walls of womb. Abode of breast. Blanket of love. Safe house called home. Widening world of bugs, birds, buddies. School of kids, Always Catholic. Camping, swimming, fishing, baseball, football. College years. Marriage #1.   Wonderful son #1. Children’s co-op.  Spiritual community / whole grain bakery. Friends for life. Marriage #2. Wonderful son #2. Rooftop business. Moved from city to small town. Remodeled a house. Personal growth: Learned to express emotion safely,  Have more room for joy, The importance of forgiveness.  Group home manager.  Canoe camps in the wilderness. The bottom of the Grand Canyon. Move to a “mid-century modern”: A home ten minutes from kids and grandkids, A place of pandemic isolation, introspection. Now a writer of what dwells in the heart, Those places visited on the journey from womb to tomb. And beyond.

  Haiku for March 27th Cold, rain, wind forecast There is something called “the sun” A warm memory

  Bird Talk Listen to the birds They’re talking that talk… Hungry owl wants to know “who cooks for you?” Cardinal serenades his mate, “chur birdy birdy birdy birdy birdy burr,” then gives her a seed-in-a-kiss. Soul-singing dove mourns his loneliness, “ooo-woo!-woo-woo.” Robin’s song cheers the world, “cheerily cheerio cheerup.” Canada goose enters, never quietly, with the honking of a ten-wheel semi. Sandhill crane does his best pterodactyl impression, a grating, hollow bugling, “kdrdrdr.” Love songs, here-I-am-aren’t-I-cool hits, songs of the soul, this-is-my-territory anthems. Remind you of anyone? Human songsters, perhaps?

  Haiku for March 26th We drive to the store There we hunt and peck for food The fox shops our yard

  Every Moment As If It’s Your Last Three Arctic explorers, shipwrecked in 1929 on the mountainous, remote west coast of Greenland, contemplate the stunning beauty of the scene. Ignoring their predicament, one says, “Maybe we have lived only to be here now.”                                                                                                           Barry Lopez               ...

  Haiku for March 25th Age seventy-four A challenge or an excuse? Opportunity!

  Sense of You I see you in the glowing sky Your eyes smiling blue I hear you in the singing brook The sound of laughing water I breathe you in the fragrant flower The scent of love-in-mist I feel the touch of your soft hand A trove of tender treasure I taste your lips, your honeyed lips, Melting in sweet ardor

  Haiku for March 24th Stormy, windy night Rain is drumming on the roof Deer take a shower

  The Wood Pile Frost said, “Good fences make good neighbors.” I say wood piles do the same. We have one by the road. And met good neighbors out there as well. It’s a story of bugs. Moved here during the pandemic last year. That bug kept us at a distance, Isolated for the most part from our neighbors. Then we took two trees down, Two trees infected by another bug, A real gem, the emerald ash borer, Half-inch long with the power to take-out 100 foot trees. And, as it happened, the power to bring neighbors together, Together around the woodpile. Some wanted firewood they’d burn right away, So’s not to spread the bug. As they say, it’s the best firewood: “Ash wood wet, and ash wood dry, a king shall warm his slippers by.” Others, woodworkers, wanted to make table tops of the big, round slices. Got to hear their stories, most living here many years, cooped-up by covid too long. Local historians of what’s really important in people’s lives, connections with others. Looking forward to fu...

  Haiku for March 23rd One hundred percent The rain prediction today Walk? Between raindrops!

  Haiku for March 22nd Spring rains soak the ground Drown-out the worms from their holes Robins like wet days

  What is my Totem? Readers, here is a challenge for you.  Imagine what your forefathers and foremothers were like, people living closer to the natural world, and/or more directly reliant on their physical skills and their tribe or clan for survival. What name would your forefather and foremother bestow upon you now, given what you are like in your current life, your personality, your characteristics, your skill set, your persona as you see it. Try to capture in a word or two what you do, what you like, or what you are like. Alternatively, you can come up with an image of what you aspire to be. As examples, think of totemic Native American names. Red Cloud, Black Hawk, or Young Bear. Let your imagination run free. Have fun with this exercise. Once Patti and I were on a hike after a summer thundershower, and Patti was ahead of me on a tree-lined trail. She happened to bump a tree branch showering us with water. I came up with a name for her, “Makes Trees Weep.” It may be diffic...

  Haiku for March 21st Frost crystals on grass Sun colors the frozen dew Art is light plus ice

  Naming the Unnameable I am the Light… Ethereal glow of moon on the snow Luminescence of early morning Sparkle of color in the frost Uncertain glimmer through the fog Flashes of sunlight on the water Flickering flames of a campfire Bright white of the eagle’s head I am the Dark… Shadow where moon light comes so far but doesn’t reach Sombre room of night Uneasy land of dreams Unlit sky Realm of owls I am the Mountain… Source of the clear snow melt Maker of rain shadow Foreign country to the flatlander Home of the gods Where the Earth ends and Heavens begin I am the Valley... Grateful recipient of spring meltwater Land of rivers, some swift and straight, some meandering oxbows Contour shaped by water or glacier long ago Verdant garden country Where people dream of the mountaintop I am the Warm… Smiling eyes under a thick, wool cap Held hands Embrace of love Look of gratitude Beam of baby’s face I am the Cold… Ice shoved onto the south shore by the north wind Wind chill on a frosted ...