All posts by Karen J. McLean
Warning: Rough Road
This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life Challenge.
You can view other writers’ contributions via the comments here.
A Grove of Crows
I come by my love of black-feathered birds naturally. Long before I knew that my Danish maiden name literally translates to “crow grove”, as a child I would spend hours watching and listening to the raucous birds in the trees around me.
My goodness, they are smart birds. My fascination with them has only grown into admiration as time has gone on. At my favourite beach, I have a friend I call Charles; he used to come to sit on a sign post when he saw my car each day. Unfortunately COVID-19 has disrupted this ritual, along with so much else. I was sad when I didn’t see him there yesterday.
Today as I sat writing at my desk, I had a feeling I was being watched. A glance out the window showed me why: a crow was sitting in the branches of the nearby tree, looking in at me — or, more accurately, at my lunch.
His (her? their? I didn’t want to presume) head cocked back and forth. I smiled and shrugged helplessly, gesturing to the window between us. With a disgusted caw, the bird gave one last head tilt and took off for less-daft human company.
The chances of it being my friend Charles are very slim. (I live nearly 8 km / 5 miles from the beach, as the crow flies.)
But let’s pretend anyway.
This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life Challenge.
You can view other writers’ contributions via the comments here.
Poetry Prompt: Change / Don’t Change
This week, my Tuesday prompts group used today’s 2021 April PAD Challenge prompt from Writer’s Digest.
This poem has been rattling ’round in my heart and head for a very long time, literally twelve years in the making. Today it finally tumbled out.
Thank you for reading it.
Change / Don't Change I look at Google Maps To revisit childhood past; Plunk Streetview Man down In front of 8510, And set the time slider Back 12 years, to 2009, And the preceding four decades, Before it was all erased. Elizabeth Wilson's house, Back among the pines and cedars. Sixty years between us Makes for an unlikely friendship. I braid her antique doll's hair, While she braids mine. There stands the school, And the playground, The old Orange Hall, And Doris's yellow house Where she sits on her veranda And watches and waits to scold. If I angle it right, I can see the other landmarks -- Houses of people whose names I've always known: Charlton; Briggs; Livingston; Burton -- And the ancient mountain smiles benevolently Upon those sheltered in its valley. But if I angle it wrong, I can see the machines, And the unbearable piles of corpses Of hundreds of trees who Watched me collecting flowers, Cheered me chasing squirrels, and Listened to me singing silly made-up songs, Sighing back to me in companionable whispers. Looking at 2021, It's all gone now, of course. Obliterated by progress: "Must get to Fredericton faster." A highway overpass My childhood's grave marker.
Poetry Prompt: “About _______”
About Archie I am owned by an orange and white cat Who, by all accounts, should be fat He eats quite a lot When he doesn't get caught He really can be such a brat The orange cat is Archie by name He thinks scratching me is a fine game Archies jumps on my head Then strikes a pose on the bed For a photo to add to his fame I'm writing this poem while he's here He's demanding attention, that's clear He purrs and he rubs I think he wants grubs An empty dish is his one great fear.
