Puddle Jumpers

There is a small puddle
Just a rut filled with water
High on a mountain
In the Appalachian hills
It is far from any stream
Creek or river.
As I walked by
I would see ripples
Often there would be bubbles.
I stopped today
Sat on a fallen tree
Waited and watched.
For I knew there had to be
A wonderment.
Soon, not soon enough
A small frog
Stuck out his head,
Climbed out of the puddle.
He was joined by two
Little frogs on the muddy rut.

When I rose to leave
I saw three ripples
Bubbles in the water
And I knew that there
Away from any source
Where tadpoles might grow
Lived three little frogs.

I walked by again and again
Just to see them jump
Ripple and bubble
In a small puddle
In the rut of a path
High on a mountain
In the Appalachian hills.

Ancient Rituals

The woods are calling
To gather us together
Old men, young men
Travel from here, everywhere
Gathering back home.
Gear in the back of pickups
Wives and youngin's kissed
Waving goodbye
See y'all soon.

Deer camp calls to us
Calling to our mountain souls
Remindin' us of how it was
Maybe how it should be.
We gather over campfires
Laugh and tell old stories
Of hunts forgotten
Old friends remembered
New stories waiting for their telling.

It is a treasure
To gather with old men, young boys
To laugh, listen and be.

Mountain Man

I am the mountain man
I am the Appalachian mystic
The preacher and pappy
Sitting quietly at the end
Of a long rough wood porch
Listenin' to old women gossip
Grinnin' as they whisper
Louder than they think.
Listenin' carefully
Peelin' off long curls
Of cedar wood
Piling up
Round my old brogans.

I am the old man of the hills
Knowin' cures and tricks
How to cure an ear ache
How to make a wart disappear
How to conjure up a storm
To call fishes an' snakes
Secrets that were passed to me
From the emerald hills
Of ancestral Celtic homes

One day I'll repeat back
What I sit and hear
At the end of the porch
Them women will sit in wonder
Taken aback I know
All the things I know.
Like I am a wonder
A magick, a trickster.

I am the old man of the mountains
I'll sit and listen
Peelin' a long curl of cedar.
Grinnin' when you turn your head.

Odd One Out

The moon is a selfish slice
Like a piece of muskmelon
Given by a miserly aunt.
Laid carefully in the sky
That is deep blue
Like the flower
Of a deadly nightshade
Hidden in the garden
Next to the tomato plants.
Cousins, yes
But how different their fruits.

Dream My Dreams

Dream my dreams
Walk in them
Through the hills
Of my home.

Taste the sweet water
Drawn from the well
Of my remembering
Sip it slow.

Run through tall grasses
To follow the fleeing deer
Run hard though you know
The race is not yours to win.

Sit still in a hayloft
Watching through the door
Seeing the world
Secret and hidden from all.

Dream my dreams
Sit and watch the joy
The comfort of the mountains
The harmony of the hills.