Early in the morning when my eyes are still heavy with sleep, my young grandson arrives for a cuddle. The sun has not yet burned through the fog. Peter brings a mug of steaming coffee and Cooper, our mini-dachshund, who dives to the bottom of the bed. In this sweet still moment, "B" and I write poems.
The following was inspired after a visit to the Topsham Fair. This is for "B" and his dad.
Drown the Clown
...a true story on so many levels.
There was a clown at the Topsham Fair as mean as he could be.
And everybody hated him, I'm sure you will agree.
He said a lot of stupid things to every passerby,
Cruel, unfair and hurtful and every word a lie.
When the crowd began to gather to hear his taunts and jeers,
I am very very certain there were folks quite close to tears.
It didn't matter who you were, if you were old or young or fat.
You shouldn't have to listen to insults bad as that.
And while he sneered up in his cage, suspended way up high,
People tried to dunk him, but the clown was always dry.
The price was an extortion, three balls, three tries in vain.
And all the while that dreadful clown was still a royal pain.
A little boy stood quietly, intently watching in the crowd.
His dad thinks clowns are creepy and he wished to do him proud.
At last he stepped up to the booth, his money in his hand.
A braver kid I never saw, the bravest in the land.
"I see you pretty mama's boy, you silly little wimp.
You can't even throw the ball, you're just a timid shrimp."
But what the clown didn't know was that his courage ran so deep.
He thought the boy would walk away, he thought he'd be too cheap.
And even if he bought the balls, he'd surely miss his mark.
He might as well be pitching them alone and in the dark.
The first ball was too high, but his second throw was strong
It slammed into the cage with a loud and ringing bong!
The startled clown was silenced while the sound rang through the air,
And everyone who heard it was at the Topsham Fair.
As summer ends we keep a careful vigil for the Monarch butterflies. Somehow their arrival signifies health and balance in our cove. The migration begins with the sight of a fluttering scrap of orange, often seen in contrast with a brilliant blue sky. if we are lucky, the butterflies will fill the air, alighting on flowers in our garden and on wildflowers everywhere. These shots were taken a few weeks ago of Monarchs attracted to wild mint growing at the end of our road. I noticed several of the brave little creatures are already showing the wear and tear of the long journey south.
We took the boats out of the water several days ago, but before we did, we made one last visit to our favorite small island. There, in that beautiful solitude, I found the distinctive Orange Monarch butterflies you see below.
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