Limited Visibility

This past week I woke up to fog as dense as I've ever witnessed. Not only was the street in front of my windows invisible, the lawn, itself, had disappeared.

At seven in the morning on a workday, it was eerily quiet on this busy thoroughfare because of the lack of traffic. I counted myself lucky not to have to contend with such dismal driving conditions. And highway travel? The same set of problems only on speed.



Limited Visibility


Wind turbines, pale giants swallowed
by ghost clouds, spin layered vapor
floating over the plains.

Warning signs and raised crossbars
prepared to halt highway traffic
loom and recede like prairie phantoms.

Drifting snow and blizzards trigger
extended arms/alarms, but diaphanous fog,
famous for pileups, holds no leverage.

                              *

Uninvited passengers,
a throbbing headache and white knuckles,
slide in for the ride.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Building a Vocabulary

My phone carries an app for the Merriam-Webster Dictionary. I like to kid myself that I know the meaning of each new Word of the Day posted on its front page. Most of them are familiar but, I will admit, some of the words baffle me. For instance, I had no idea what arrogate meant until it appeared front and center on today's app.



Building a Vocabulary


An-tho-phile
selected Word of the Day:

someone/something fascinated by
                                           flowers ---

bees, butterflies, and me.

Lilacs and lavender
               provender for them,
                                  aloe for my soul.

But weedkilling gly-phos-phates
unwittingly maim monarchs
                               and painted ladies

         while

neo-nic-o-ti-noids
inadvertently blindside beehives
on our way to the perfect lawn or
                 a bumper crop of corn.

We plant butterfly friendly bushes,
         scatter milkweed seeds,
             tally pollinators,
    rejoice at twosomes and more.

But lep-i-dop-tera and hy-me-nop-tera
              continue to dwindle
      here, there, and ev-ery-where.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor





   

Tipping Point

Back from the cabin up north where spring seems to come in fits and starts. At least the ice is out of the lake, leaving behind cold but clear water.

It's a different story for the ponds not far from my home here in the city. Last year seemed to be a tipping point, and egrets no longer tarry in these once pristine pools.



Tipping Point


Run-off herbicides and salt-winter streets.

Neighborhood ponds dull as dun,
no duck pairs nesting,
maybe two turtles sunbathing.

An egret, fresh from a long flight back,
steps into the tannin, dazed as a homeowner

scanning the muck fouling his house.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

How to Deal with Recalcitrant Plants

It's Mother's Day, and, of course, memories of my own mother persist, make me chuckle.

On this sunny May morning when so many are pumped about planting flowers, I can't help but think about Mom's relations with anything green.



How to Deal with Recalcitrant Plants


Weary of the pathos brought
by her own brown thumb
my mother heard
that plants respond to speech.

She turned to her orchid
bereft of blossoms.
Lovingly, she coaxed,
stubbornly, it resisted,
persisted as scraggly foliage.

Next up
a struggling philodendron.
Every morning she praised
the stunted leaves clinging
to trailing tendrils
until they died of embarrassment.

Then an ivy caught her attention,
eyed her warily
as she sidled close and cooed,
"I have three little words for you."

Appraising its droopy runners,
she let loose with
"CHOP, CHOP, CHOP!"

Mom never did hold with small talk.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Urban Warbler

Spring eluded us this year. It seems as if we jumped from a forever winter into the warmth of summer.

As if in fast forward, the trees are almost leafed out, and tulips buried under masses of snow two weeks ago are a day or two away from blooming in full color. More importantly, at least to me, cheerful song birds have returned to perform in surround sound.



Urban Warbler


sings spring from a spindly boulevard tree.
A solitary robin belting his heart out

cocky as a top ten artist, confident
of outperforming airbrakes, rumbling bass.

Locals open their windows,
curtail their cats, turn down their tunes

shrug at his disappearing acts,
walk with a lighter step when he's back -

this fair weather rockstar of our 'hood.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Ice Out

Snow remains on the ground both here in slowly melting parking lot piles, and at the cabin in hollows, ditches, and blanketing the forest floor.  Of course, the lake remains capped with ice. With the right timing, my ears can attest to the protests of trapped water, itching to be free.



Ice Out


Deep throated whoops,
muffled vibratos escape as I scan
the lake's frozen cover
cracked and vulnerable as tempered glass.

A lost beluga whale? Inland?

More likely the sound
of water planning a breakout,
scheming through frigid walls of lockdown.

And I know it's only a matter of shocks
before waves roll free,
and farther north icebergs flee,
shadowing leviathans' timeworn trails.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Minnesota Haiku - April

Last weekend's winter weather should have prompted these lines of haiku, but I was too busy enjoying daffodils and magnolias, blooming in London.

Come late Sunday my plane landed back here in the Cities at the end of a fierce winter storm. A rude reminder of why mid-April is no guarantee of soft spring days.



Minnesota Haiku - April


Foolhardy warblers
traveled off-season too soon,
hunker in hedges.

No geese on the wing,
their favorite resorts late
to open, iced in.

Crows in black trench coats
laugh at spring blizzards, swap storm
stories in tree tops.

Buds on bare branches
hold close their cards, refuse to
gamble with north winds.

The crab apple tree,
Shiva arms askew, gathers
snow garlands, not blooms.

Only the crocus
defies winter-scapes, pops like
a jack-in-the-box.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor



 

The More Things Change

I'm trying to ignore the blizzard at home that I will be flying into later today. By that time, I sincerely hope it will have been downgraded to a mere snowstorm.

Meanwhile, it's been quite pleasant here in London the past few days. On one of my prior trips to England we took a side trip to Bath. An amazing British town.



The More Things Change


In Bath Romans built Minerva a shrine,
placed it by warm springs and healing waters,
relaxed in the pools beneath arched designs,
and next door honored Jupiter's daughter.
They petitioned their deity on bright
silver pieces of thinly wrought metal:
"As for my neighbor, Julian, please smite
him for stealing my two head of cattle."
The conquerors left, their temple perished,
a scattering of entreaties remained.
In time a new god and church to cherish
rose by those baths on the flat English plain.
And a basket in that Abbey today
holds pleas not unlike those of bygone days.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Small Talk

For the next couple of Sundays I will be in London, staying with my daughter and her family. Tomorrow we have tickets to see a Picasso Exhibition at the Tate. Standing among brilliant works of art frequently holds me tongue tied as do social gatherings where I'm lucky to know maybe one other person in the room.



Small Talk


And I rue
my Northern European reserve:

a Study in Black and White pinned
among an exuberance of Matisse

Wyeth's Helga surrounded by Warhol's,
Mao and Marilyn

a Vermeer
silenced by a three-eyed Picasso.

But how to reveal
my Miro
overpainted by forbearance?



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Delayed Departure

Winter has not lost its grip here in the north country. Today is Easter Sunday, and the current temperature sits at 12 degrees with a windchill hovering around zero. This year's Sunrise Services will not be for the faint of heart.



Delayed Departure


The vireos arrive as scheduled
but the frosty tenant refuses to vacate
despite a contract that states
"Checkout time: April."

Borealis holds the management
hostage with bursts of sleet,
arm wrestles the south wind
as the zephyr tries to eject him.

Tired of spring blunting his blows
he exits in a fit of royal pique,
swirling a brazen mantle of snow
like a visitor snubbed.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Deadfall

It is still winter up at the cabin. At least two feet of snow continues to cover the ground in the forest, and a smattering of the white stuff persists on the lake. However, a sun inching higher in the sky, and temps in the upper 20s made for great snow-shoeing both on the lake and in the woods.



Deadfall


An ancient pine slumps
against a neighbor
caught
as he fell in the wind and snow.

His outer bark
undone and curled back
like a long-coat shrugged off
in the final delirium of hypothermia.

Shoulder-to-shoulder
the companion
now improbably set
in a death tableau meant for one.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Vernal Equinox

Tuesday will mark the spring equinox, and the world is thawing. Banks of snow, some covered in road grime, others still pristine, slowly slip away. The lakes hold fast to their ice, but only a fool would venture onto them. It is the birds, more than anything, that confirm the coming of springtime.



Vernal Equinox


I crack a late winter window
        to hear the change of seasons
                    singing through the pines

Traveling troupes
                of warblers chasing
                                          longer days

Exuberant enough to nudge
                 even a curmudgeon's  
                           off-duty dancing feet.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Tools of the Trade

Yes, I am a day early with my blog, but I am leaving, shortly, for a Pediatric Conference in Arizona. Even though I am retired, I like to keep current with the latest medical information.

It helps that the meeting is held where flowers are in bloom, and, oh-by-the-way, where a sister of mine lives.



Tools of the Trade


Mickey Mouse waves
with each sweep of my watch.

A timepiece
that makes friends with toddlers,
acts as a monitor for hearts,
tests recall in head injuries,
tracks endless-seeming seizures,
counts the breaths of babies.

I find my double-bell stethoscope
almost as useful.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Cosmic Comedy

This past week saw record February snowfall here in the Twin Cities followed by a string of days in the mid-forty degree range. Tomorrow's forecast predicts another six inches of the white stuff just when you think Borealis has lost his grip.

Condo living removes some of winter's frustrations, but I clearly remember the angst of unexpected spring snowstorms even in the month of April.



Cosmic Comedy


I know I complained about the sullied bedrolls of snowbanks. And, yes, I whined about the archeological finds of cigarette butts and discarded styrofoam, emerging through winter's shrinking drifts. But why did you decide to listen to me this time, and try to make things nice? Sure, last night's whiteout hides the grime, and the heap of fresh snow balanced delicately on stilled branches is worthy of its front page photo. But after the last blizzard my right boot now leaks, my snake-bit car balks at the end of the drive, and six inches of cement-like moisture awaits my dented shovel, already claiming workman's comp. We are not amused.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor