He calls and repeats his call, it travels on the tepid breeze, encircles the weary woodland, rises up to crafty cumulus clouds, trails passed each blade of grass and falls into empty, murky marsh.
He waits and waits even longer, his tune falls to silent, vacant realms knowing her image trails in his mind, lifts his head and rises high to listening, he puffs his wings, encircles the land, will travel far to find what he has lost.
As for the song bird, he lovingly lingers long; seeks what he has lost.
“And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.”
Perhaps, “mayday” was a warning cry for warmth after a long bitter winter years ago? Maybe only the spring peepers really know how to cheer on an early May’s jubilant song? Were the migration of birds dismayed as snow steadily seeped in frozen ground?
On the brighter note…
Mayflowers nodded their sleepy heads on bare branched forest floor, a sprig of hope. Maypoles decorated in rich colored ribbon held by young children skipping in the wind and mayflies, nymphs, gorge on fresh algae only to enjoy a few short days of spring.
May Day is more than sun shining brighter, longer it is a fresh start!
Immature mayflies, also known as nymphs, feed on microscopic algae and organic matter in the water. Adults don’t have functioning mouthparts, and therefore do not eat? However, this isn’t an issue since mayflies only live as mature adults for a few days.
In Hawaii, May Day is also known as Lei Day, and it is normally set aside as a day to celebrate island culture in general and the culture of the native Hawaiians in particular. Invented by poet and local newspaper columnist and was celebrated on 1 May 1927 in Honolulu.
The maypole dance is a spring ritual long known to Western Europeans. Usually performed on May 1 (May Day), the folk custom is done around a pole garnished with flowers and ribbon to symbolize a tree. Practiced for generations in countries such as Germany and England, the maypole tradition dates back to the dances ancient people used to do around actual trees in hopes of harvesting a large crop.
“Jacob’s Narrow Journey” is the sequel to “Jemi’s Noble Quest”. Both books are part of the I Am the Light series. It will be released later this year. If you haven’t had the time to read the first book, perhaps it can be added to you summer reading program.
Jacob’s Narrow Journey is a story of loss and hope. The story is set back two thousand years. The reader will join Jemi, Rezin and Jacob as they venture through the Jezreel and Jordan valleys. What are they searching for? That is something you’ll need to take the time to read!
Kenziah stepped toward Jemi, “You have been ready for this day since Rezin brought you out from the desert. We all thought you had died. Not Rezin he searched for you until he found you.” Kenziah fixed the veil about Jemi’s face. “You will grow in love together as long as you seek God’s wisdom. Your bridegroom has arrived. It’s time…”
So much death had filled the streets of Dor. Many large graves were dug to bury the dead bodies which were stacked atop each other. There were no processions, no wailers or doleful music being played. The stench of rotting corpse filed the air which once had been perfumed with delicious spices.
Jacob looked out at the storm and then glanced at Abigail. He saw panic in her eyes. Though he dreaded their present state, something inside emerged. A peace washed over him. Then a great desire surfaced to shield her from the roaring wind and scattering sands. A tinge of guilt settled in his heart. He had been nasty to her these past few weeks. Jacob’s crude behavior had built a wall between them and his parents. Just as he was about to offer her shelter, Abigail moved closer to Rezin and Jemi. His father gathered her next to his mother and secured his strong arms around both of them. Jacob sat alone. The spark of resentment which had almost been defused flared up into a raging storm of its own.
Jemi’s Noble Quest is available on Amazon P. Wolf; poet & author
In the beginning darkness spread its veil, before the setting of the first golden sunset, earlier than man stepping on the earth; at first ALL was righteous, good, upright. Originally, it was God who made a perfect, pleasant place for all to live in harmony!
In the end, it becomes the creation’s honor, as time trickles to an expectant climax, to finish the race with full responsibility, respect and in the resolution of all time tending to things with a positive closure. One day soon, there will be a new Earth!
“The earth is the Lord’s, and all its fullness, The world and those who dwell therein. For He has founded it upon the seas, And established it upon the waters.”
“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.”
If I could paint a landscape of spring, to reveal the magic it can truly bring, it would be of forsythia’s brilliant show where yellow blooms abundantly grow! Of a carpet of green after months of tan; cool, curly blades of grass, budding leaf, and new flower bulbs deep in dirty sand. Warmth in the fresh air as if to know its lifeblood helps makes all things flow. A-flight are flocks of birds which sing, soar skies; oversees them as does a king.
If I could capture the blessings of spring, of a life lived in Christ and what it brings; it could take weeks or years to show, it would be glorious with fruits that grow, it would reflect on Jesus Christ the man, it would not be freed from trials or grief, though it is difficult to understand or know. There’s a godly peace that comes to flow; even in sorrow one can hope and sing praises to our returning Creator and King!
What is a branch without a leaf, a lovely, lush, living gem of green? Where does the vine first connect beneath the dark, deep, dim earth? When does the branch give birth to tender bud, to juicy fruit, to life? Why does the branch bare badly; it has dried and is no longer rooted.
Without sturdy roots, a branch becomes just tinder; embers in the fire.
P. Wolf; poet & author
“I am the vine, you are the branches; the one who remains in Me, and I in him bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.” John 15:5
I’m proud to announce my new children’s chapter book for ages 6-9. It was released today on Amazon. The first book in this adventure series focuses on children’s dramatic play and the character of Paul from the book of Acts. Your kids will enjoy sailing the high seas was Alexis and her younger brother, Ollie!
Translucent wings flutter as stain glass beauties swoop and then soar for a meal; in days long gone another dragon spieces spied the landscape looking for unique treasure other than pesky, tiny misquotes.
White tailed rabbit nibbling!
Emerald islands float, tufted succulents bouncing, blooming, bursting forth in sun; a healthy meal at duck pond. Circular vegetation, a meal on watery floating plate, becomes first course before meaty frogs.
Red tailed hawk perch high in pine!
It’s here hard, hallowed turtles tower tumble in and out, at will, on bundles of thick marsh grass, weathered wood and speckled rocks to view the gathering insects, reptiles, amphibians, mammals and piercing sun.
White tailed deer sipping pond water!
Beneath slithering snakes show an exotic dance while frogs hold their stand frozen in place, muskrats cowering in dry corners of muck munching on snails delights bobbing up and down walls of his cattail den.
Ringed tailed raccoon resting in branches!
Bubbles breathe to water’s edge, stirring stagnant pond. Aerating life dug deep in earth made dungeon; inhale-exhale habitat year after year. Courting life and death over and over again until generations melt away.
Red tailed fox passing looking for a meal!
“As water reflects the face, so one’s life reflects the heart.”
Still there’s a slice of ice encasing the marsh as glass; stiff, sharp becomes a screen protecting you from prey. Visions of rich, dense duck weed and brown, earthy tuffs of marsh grass huddle waiting for cloudless sky. But morning chill tells another story of early spring.
Buried deep you rest. With scent of spring playing games of hide and seek; you find no aroma of wild rose only unscented seeds from brown, barefaced bundled of reeds and cat-tails spinning, dancing atop silvery layer of ice; your roof-top sky light. Your throaty call echoes beneath; stiff in the icy entrapment.
Yet, this is your woodland nest here life and death linger in stiff pools of decaying waters rich with microscopic bacteria; so minuscule even your bulgy protruding eyes unable to find them. Your passion overriding all, your mission drives you forward as your need to seek a mate becomes all; this is why you were created and it consumes your very existence.
A warning, when the ice melts cranes and geese are waiting to have you as a tasty meal. Sing quickly, call out rhythmic chips, chatter and chants; for somewhere she waits past all still danger to dance awhile as it has been written in the book of “Spring Peepers Logs of Love”; for now the image in ice is only you!
“These all wait for You, That You may give them their food in due season. What You give them they gather in; You open Your hand, they are filled with good. You hide Your face, they are troubled; You take away their breath, they die and return to their dust. You send forth Your Spirit, they are created; And You renew the face of the earth.”
Psalm 104: 27-30
northern cricket frog is a species of small hylid frog native to the United States and northeastern Mexico. Despite being members of the tree frog family, they are not arboreal. It has two recognized subspecies.
Northern cricket frogs sometimes occur in cattail ( Typha sp.) thickets as well as in other terrestrial and/or aquatic shoreline vegetational assemblages .
Other treefrogs in the northern cricket frog’s range are the spring peeper, the western chorus frog and the gray treefrog. The spring peeper has a dark X-shaped blotch on the back. The western chorus frog has three dark continuous or broken lines down the back. The gray treefrog has a light spot with a dark border under each eye and bright orange or yellow inner thighs. The cricket frog appears to have “warts” like a toad but lacks the large parotoid glands that toads have behind each eye. The clicking call of the northern cricket frog may be difficult to distinguish from that of some marsh birds.
For decades I’ve looked forward to late March and spring again here in Wisconsin. First, the red winged black birds arrive with cranes and geese. Then the air is filled with a chorus of spring peepers. Their voice is a melody of a thousand vocal musicians filling the halls of my woodland. Come late April there is no pond side sitting. Their song so intense, one needs to close all windows. Yet, those early sounds bring joy to my heart. P. Wolf; poet & author