Where the Hummingbirds Sing
at the cabin
where the hummingbirds
sing. Where the deer scurry through
desiccated leaves from the near backyard to the
neverends of the woods. Where the creaking birch floors
are the only thing that break the quietude. They add character, she claimed. Where the water
cascades down the rocky hill into a tepid pool deep enough to drown you if you survived the
Where civilization is distant, dozens of miles away.
Desolate ghost towns: they’re easy to forget about.
Where the lake is as smooth as black glass, as flat as
a mirror. Where no fish swim because no sun
shines and no life lives where no sun shines. Where
the brittle trees sway in the thin air to an
unsettling degree. They are more like branches
than trees. Where the grass is uncombed and crisp,
hardly green. Back at the cabin where the
hummingbirds sing and everything else listens.
A Barren Shadow
The grass was uncombed and parched,
The trees, leafless and brittle.
Corroded pennies, neglected wishes drowned in the lukewarm well, Tarnished by time.
The steel slide, once shiny and silver was now
Rusted and dented all over.
The seesaw lay stationery,
Roots and foliage suffocating its grounded right side. But the swingset was feasibly the most dilapidated.
Rotting and splintered wood, once a practical seat
Now dangled from one side.
It was surprising that even one of the
Decayed chains could still support it,
As though it was permanently shackled to the
Chunk of weathered pine.
The sound of the whistling wind and creaking chains Harmonized.
An eerie lullaby,
Sending the joy that once filled this playground
Into an eternal sleep.
It is now just a ghostly form,
A barren shadow of what it once was.
When the last rays of golden sunlight Kiss the tired horizon.
When the greens and blues of daylit landscape Melt into deep grays
under the moonlight. When the fish loll and let the
Tepid stream and cool breeze
Carry them northward.
Everything, everyone is veiled.
The trees are just silhouettes
And the lullaby of the robins evaporates Into the velvety night sky.
Even the stars and moon are blanketed under A dense layer of fog.
Shadows are swallowed by
Nightfall cocoons me;
A temporary solace, so comforting It feels like it could last forever.
But soon enough,
My alarm rings:
The robins sing again,
The trees awaken,
And we do it once more.
About the Author: Anna Philippe currently attends the Institute for Collaborative Education in New York City. She enjoys writing poetry, creative and personal essays, and novels. She hopes to use her writing to positively influence others!