Pilgrimage

Late August, and inland gulls already assemble in empty parking lots at daybreak. Their numbers increase weekly as the earth rotates toward the coming fall. This convergence of birds turns into a hypnotic spectacle as they swirl overhead, practicing for their long trek south.



Pilgrimage


Would I blaspheme
if I compared an autumn gathering of gulls
to a group bound for mecca?

Churning, turning like a fan
jubilant, orbiting, a pirouette, a shimmy.

White as the sky of dawn,
almost lost as they circle aloft
as if to prepare
for seven times 'round the Kaaba.

Mystical as a group of whirling dervishes
mesmerized with motion
about to start a second-sighted journey.

Standing at the periphery, I ponder why
I cannot soar even as they fly.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Aurora Borealis

Last weekend marked this summer's Perseid Meteor Shower at a time we would be at the cabin and away from city lights. A rare chance to witness wonders of the night sky.

I set my alarm for one hour before sunrise, the best time to view this phenomena, or so I read. But I failed to calculate the length of predawn brightness in the far north, and missed the show yet again.



Aurora Borealis


Once I saw
green lights shimmering
in the northern sky,
great swathes of color
moving to music
played light years away.
Thousands of street lamps
tried but couldn't hide
the exuberance overhead.

Now from a prime seat
in the dark north woods
I keep searching midnight
for these gossamer sheets,
rare as the solar flares
that send them dancing.

Meanwhile,
I settle for stars waltzing
through the Milky Way,
trace comets on the loose.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

The Accidental Coffin Maker

It's summer and that means more weekends spent up north at the cabin. The mosquito population is on the wane, though not as much as we would like, and the warm days mean more people on the lake, making for a livelier time. But lest I forget the permanent residents, below is a reminder of the characters that make up the year 'round population.



The Accidental Coffin Maker


The northwoods whiskey-swilling
carpenter builds wicked-good cabinets
when not nursing a grudge
or in the thick of a bar-provoked fight
over some perceived slight.

His neighbor wedded to a woman
with Alzheimer's looks beyond the bluster.
Commissions a handcrafted box, cross
planed on the lid, sized to sit on a dresser,
contain a bag of ashes.
Knows it will be polished with care.

Somehow, word will leak out,
and woe to the local who snickers.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Dragonfly Season

Andrew, my significant Singaporean other, is not your typical north woods cabin owner. But he is well known to the locals, and despite a decade plus of ribbing, he revels in time spent there.



Dragonfly Season


At the lake I sleep with you, Andrew Hong,
an enigma in the far northern forests.

Your canoe comes with a motor,
skims across wave-washed smirks

that fade far from the shore
lapping at your dock, the only one

without lures or lines. Next door the shudder
of bearskin peeled from its ham-strung carcass

courses through your own taut muscles.
Chopsticks don't mix well with cheese dip

nor beer with your reluctance to drink
alcohol, and football remains forever foreign.

Shrugged shoulders and cock-eyed grins
cannot fathom why we're here

but the eagle nests above us
and the heron fishes from our pier.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor