When the onyx sky transforms

brilliant midnight sparkles

to a spectacular array of gold,

orange, red, and purple dawn,


Swango Princess blows

a secret morning kiss

through a wall of wispy river-fog

to Big Chief, the proud leader

of Abenaki, admiring her

from a bed of dewy ferns

across the Kennebec River.

Another sanguine day

awakens in Dawnland.




A crystal white blanket

surrounds sturdy roots

hidden deep below the forest floor

during winter in Maine.


Dormant oaks and maples, alive with

gray squirrels scrambling to

deliver fat cheeks filled

with coveted acorns

to fill their midwinter pantry.


Clever raccoons climb tall oaks,

clinging to leafless branches

high above the ground.

Prickly fat porcupines gnaw

away at maple or birch bark

searching for insects

to snack on at midnight.


Stately oaks stand straight,

stiff soldiers sending tall shadows

across a marshmallow-y coverlet

blanketing the forest floor

at sunrise.


Crisp evergreens

puffed twice their size,

hibernate under heavy coats

of white icing, providing refuge

like condo’s for families

of chattering songbirds.

Branches bow down in reverence

to the mighty passing storm.


Battered by house-sized

chunks of ice Kennebec shores

appear smooth and glassy

as if shrink-wrapped for the winter

like hibernating yachts at the marina.




She sighs and groans,

sounds personified,

raising tall goosebumps

on the strong arms

of her loyal congregation,

listening along the riverbanks.


Far below, her companion ebb tide

rushes directly outward on predictable schedule

toward the sea.

Licked by the fiery flames of sunrise

her chiseled exposed edges melt,

dripping ever so slowly,

reverting again to a wall of swirling water

powerfully rushing toward the sea.


Do not despair my frigid Queen,

I will return to support and raise you

upward again another day,

whispers her loyal playmate,

Ebb Tide of the

mighty Kennebec River.



A sprinkling of raindrops taps

against thick layers of copper leaves,

crunchy remnants of last fall,

resting now on the forest floor below,

drinking in the melting snow of winter,

warming just enough to awaken

green shoots of spring hidden beneath.


A sweet choir of avian harmony

echoes through dormant oak branches,

along mossy, ice-encrusted granite

banks of a brisk spring stream,

instinctively seeking their Queen,

the Kennebec River.