A poem from Now Might as Well be Then
|The last photo of Barry and me, 2008, taken for my poetry book, Now Might as Well be Then, published in 2009|
|Winter at my house a few years ago.|
|Winter in my woods|
|Brasstown Bald, highest peak in Georgia with dusting of snow. |
Photo taken from my deck.
I am sick with a cold and not up to writing a post today. So I decided to post some photos I like.
|Sailboat on the bay in Nova Scotia. I liked the cleanliness and fresh air. I could live there except I don't want to be so far from my family.|
|Bison graze at Yellowstone in 2003. This trip motivated me to write a number of poems. I will always remember the wildlife and the wonders of Yellowstone Park. I hope we will always have our national parks and national monuments.|
Scene from Yellowstone’s Valiant Wild
By Glenda Council Beall
A young male strode down the mountainside,
crossed the road, strutted into shallow waters
of the Gallatin river. He stalked the old bull elk
grazing alone on the other side.
The herd master ignored the gauntlet for a while,
then quick like a rattler striking, charged from the bank.
The clash of antlers cracked like breaking pines
in an ice storm, rolling sound upstream and down.
On land once more, the battle halted
while both tried to maneuver bony-branched horns
between the lodge pole pines. A minute’s rest--
then back into the current.
Strong hind quarters, taunt neck muscles, bunched
like iron cables, pushed, retreated, up and down
the icy stream. The match wore on for more
than twenty minutes.
Heads low, antlers commingled like old bones
collected in a basket, until the young stud forced
his aging foe beneath the water’s surface, held him there.
The veteran of a life of valiant clashes at last broke free.
He crashed and splashed downstream, the loser,
bleating like a lamb who's lost his mother.
Posing for cameras on the roadside,
the victor, centered in the roaring river,
raised his head and shook his massive rack.
He bugled his triumphant call to his new harem