Nature’s Dance
Continued from Page 6
As new air is expectant to dream and to
yearn,
Endings need beginnings and from this
polarity I would never want to be apart,
And the seasons will always recharge my
heart.
Up and down, left and right, forwards and
backwards, past, present and future,
Summer thrives, Autumn falls, Winter
wounds, and then Spring heals to suture,
Who am I to upset God and Nature’s apple
cart?
Higher powers in charge do recharge my
heart.
Walking the Wireless
By Jennifer Nightingale, of Astoria
A beautiful Bascule bridge stretches out
across the bay.
Over the century its stood guard on thou-
sand diff erent gill-netters
Its pilings washed by constant whirlpools
and eddies
The currents of its estuarial destiny
Battered by one hundred years of winter
storms.
Built for the constant push and tug of
tidal demands
Walk across the Old Youngs Bay and take
a sharp right onto Wireless Road.
The noise of traffi c drops off and you can
Hear the fresh staccato of the black
capped chickadee.
Out across the across the verdant fi elds,
tiny Spring lambs
Gambol towards you because they are
curious
Cry out and poke their heads through the
wire fences.
Mud-streaked daff odils spill sunlight in
the muck
Follow the Wireless Road along the bay
So many mysterious landmarks and rust-
ing things
Make you wonder why
A round barn has been fi lling with trac-
tors and forgotten things.
It’s been there before the bridge was
built.
You want to know its story but there’s no
one there to ask.
Refrigerated trailers used to haul fi sh,
now they sit in the mud going nowhere.
A family of cattle cluster together with a
tiny black calf,
Mud splattered and curious, she calls out
to you.
You slop through the mud to touch her
soft muzzle.
While a cormorant dries his massive
wings a top a long-forgotten piling
You witness the world waking up as you
walk the loop of Wireless Road,
In the Springing of the year
Jennifer Nightingale
Jennifer Nightingale’s poem ‘Walking the
Wireless’ is inspired by walking along Wireless
Road and Old Youngs Bay Bridge.
Autumn Pear Hangs On
By Florence Sage, of Astoria
Buff eted hard at Smith Point on the bay
by westerlies off the ocean and piercing
blows
rushing from the Arctic through the Gorge,
a lone pear hangs from a long thin branch
on my front yard tree.
Branches brace
for the next big storm to snatch from the
tree
most of its dainty white blooms
and reduce the harvest again next Fall
to just a few, six last year.
This one pear has persisted from
September
to April Fool’s, a little brown in spots, get-
ting soft,
determined to make it to Spring
to witness this year’s white array
of petals spread over the arms of the tree.
In punishing gusts the pear swings in wild
arcs
like the hummingbird feeder hooked
nearby
that has been known to fl y horizontal
and empty its nectar on the ground.
The suet holder has taken off to some other
yard.
Still this last pear refuses to let go.
I’ve almost stopped looking, just a glance,
afraid for the little round pear, so hopeful,
the way you watch the hapless characters
in a horror movie through spread fi ngers,
no, no, don’t fall. Not yet.
I’ll never eat from the pear when it fi nally
drops.
Maybe bury it by the garden in the fl ower
pot
holding the ashes of my old dog
and let them share their epic stories
about being brave and holding on.
By Ed Leinenkugel, of Astoria
Spring appeared between bands of piercing
rain.
The “gang of four,” black-tailed deer, grazed
by the Alders and Firs;
One deer, in particular, groomed Chubby
Cheekers,
The local rabbit, whose visits are a welcome
habit.
Another deer, however, apparently felt
otherwise,
Pawing at the animated rabbit, as if to say
“Enough is enough, we don’t wish to play.”
Instead, the rabbit circled around the friend-
liest doe
While she curiously studied nature’s dance
below.
Random sunbreaks sliced through menacing
clouds,
Billowing objects tinted with blue, grey,
black and charcoal.
The darkness appeared darker, and the
brightness seemed brighter,
And the long grass, freshly wet, waved while
it glistened,
Inviting nibbles by the four-legged creatures,
Kindred spirits enjoying community
sustenance.
And then the rabbit leaped on the deer in the
shadows
Ready to lead a charge against the predators
who dare
To threaten this pastoral neighborhood aff air.
A Story About Astoria
By Ed Leinenkugel, of Astoria
I peered through the wide end of my
telescope
And studied a fl amboyant past, not quite
forgotten,
Of working canneries and colorful Victorians
Hugging craggy hillsides that slope toward
the Columbia.
This is a story about Astoria’s fascinating
past,
About forests and furs, salmon and ferns,
Fins and Swedes and tall trees that spread
like weeds,
About Tribes and tribulations of fi ghting
weather,
Where relentless rain is always in play.
Assume you will get wet, and never forget,
Umbrellas are useless and capes often
disappoint.
Light houses and lightships project angels of
light.
The terrors of the Pacifi c escalate the fright,
Above the lure of graveyards that threaten
the night
Where shipwrecks litter the bottom of the
ocean.
Always in perpetual frothy motion
The waves at the Mouth crash against the
jetties
And the Bar confounds with foggy sounds.
Misty mysteries slicken the ladders
That bob and sway and provide the way
To safety and guidance and pirate’s
parlance,
And point to a destiny that may lie North.
From ferries to bridges, and cabins and
forts,
In one state or the other, to a protected port.
A history one could never make up.
See Page 14
The
Illahee
Apartments
Downtown Astoria’s
Most Respected
Apartment Complex
Since 1969.
1046 Grand Avenue
Astoria, OR 97103
503-325-2280
THURSDAY, MAY 6, 2021 // 7