Midges and Moths

It must be spring by the tally of insects flattened on the windshield of Andrew's Jeep. Not until last summer did I realize how much of a hit their numbers had actually taken.



Midges and Moths


Me, worry about too few
bugs? Never - until now.

At the lake only a core crew
         of dragonflies
targets armies of mosquitoes.

Butterfly bushes bloom
into cabarets with few partygoers,
and the music of warblers sounds thin.

My alarm-o-meter barely budged.
I puzzled and shrugged
until a news report rattled me.

More subtle than insecticides,
the uptick in temps hampers
breeding, reduces reproduction

and trips alarm-o-meters
of bug counters everywhere.

Bird numbers plummet
without these bits of protein,
and crops needing pollinators,
                                              backslide.

Now, my own alarm-o-meter
plagues me like a persistent ear-worm.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Unsettled

Owning a cabin is basically akin to owning a second house, and we all know what that means. Things age out or need repair. But problems in the north woods can be a little different from in the Cities: a rebellious septic system or recalcitrant well-pump, and the nearest town of any size (pop. 2182) a thirty minute drive away on a good day.



Unsettled


This weekend it's the wind.
Winter weakened branches
plummet from pines and birch,
white caps party, finely free
from ice out, twenty-some geese
camp on the shoreline like travelers
grounded. Then the water pump fails.
A jerry-rig fix until the well-man
can show sometime next week
with finger tips darkly etched,
ready to poke around the shaft
plunged in shadowed recesses.
If we're lucky, his truck holds
redemptive parts. If not, a whole
new mechanism to order.
For now, I rescue the thermometer
face down at the base of the maple.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Day 33 of Shelter-in-Place

A month of days at home. Tedious. No gatherings. Interactions at a distance. Even a moody sky. Surely, introverts become restless, too.



Day 33 of Shelter-in-Place


A hawk kind of day,
melancholy drifting across a cello

like the harrier riding the thermals,
        climbing then dropping,
looping past sky-scraping windows.

No air-force-blue skies,
   no streamers of sunshine,
      no majorettes or marching bands
           on Main Street, USA.

Only the pizzicato chirps of wrens
beneath a glissading bird of prey.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Arraignment

Years ago in the days following Easter, I used to slip into a nearby church empty on weekday afternoons. I went primarily for the serenity but also for the aroma of flowers that promised spring.



Arraignment


The smell of lilies
in April is
cathedral silence
sunlit by saints
in stained glass cool
before a white field
of altar flowers
in essence sent peace.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor