Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

28 – New Eden Revealed

I have lived in this house they called New Eden for 25 years on a quarter acre lot around the corner from Long Island Sound.

There’s a claggy pond out back, and a nature preserve just a stone’s throw away.

It’s Heaven, really, never mind the state road on the other side of the eight foot privet that keeps the peace.

The day I moved in, two bright green parakeets landed on a branch of the great old Maple in the back corner of the yard.

They seemed as auspicious as the lilac, beloved since first sight, blooming at the edge of the driveway.

Every year, I pray the lilac will bloom again, that the Maple will survive another storm to keep company with her resident squirrels and raccoons. And me.

She and I wept together when the grand Oak came down, and we still laugh at dusk when the rabbits come out to play.

Seasons come and go here at a predictable pace,

the sublime hush of winter steps aside for spring birds who sing in sparks of poetry usually lost in the busy buzz of summer

before the breeze of autumn shivers the knotweed and startles the monarchs who make no tracks, but the field mice do

tiny footprints criss-cross with bird notes and the straight firm steps of the coyote

turtles come and go, too, snakes, hawks, owls, and once a frog so big I thought he might be a prince!

this sweet spot has revealed its secrets for ages — snowdrops bloom where never planted, a robin’s nest appears beside a window, and salamanders tuck in by the bird feeder

just last week I discovered a small sliver of ocean just to the south, in between some saplings, hidden from view until now

No wonder the ospreys fly so low, and waves sometimes wake me from dreams.

Photo & Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. #NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gif

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