'Coons Across the Creek

Late at night the ‘coons would come from across the creek
to noisily eat at our dog’s bowl.

The mama ‘coon would bring her kits,
stepping so lightly on the dry stones in the creek.
One-by-one each would quickly leap
from dry stone to dry stone until all were safely across.

They would cross the old country road in front of our property,
carefully looking both ways for errant farm hands coming back from town after an evening of drinking in the town’s one saloon.

Parading up the hill single file, like wild Indians on the warpath; the ‘coons came to the back of our house to eat their supper from Butterball’s bowl. Squabbling noisily amongst themselves to see who would get the last tidbits the ‘coons would lick the bowl clean.

Until the moon rose in the east casting ghost-like shadows across the world,
when the ‘coons would file one-by-one disappearing across the creek.


Chuck Conners, September 19, 2009

Nighttime in the Country

Nighttime in the country, the shadows dark and deep
Fireflies all a’ glitter, the frogs chirp a roaring peep!

The critters of the night move stealthily from bush to hay
The baby skunks and tiny possums come out to snack and play

The riot of nocturnal flowers, their scent so sweet and full
The first cutting of the hay, the greased implements in the shed of tools

I gaze across the land, breathe in the wonder of the night
Could it be that I am hungry for more than just the sight?

To live a good and just life, a life that gives back to all the rest
Sharing with each other is really the ultimate test

We stare up at the lights, each one alone it seems
What gains a man the whole world if he cannot share his dreams?

Nighttime in the country, the quiet takes my soul
Under a billion stars I once again become whole.

Chuck Connors, May 30, 2009