morning quietude
interrupted by traffic noise
and church bells chiming
twelve noon
pebble of joy 4/24/2024
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pollen season
early morning breeze separates seed from chaff
as the last of our trees begin to bud
black walnut, of course, always late to the party
they'll flower, form fruit, and our pollen season is over
at least until summers weeds begin their harvesting
along ditch banks and fence rows, casting their lots to the wind
And soon the month of May with all her posies and sunny days
She is pink cheeked and breathless as she runs across the meadow
summer picking up speed
‘This is become our unregretted home’ – Lawrence Durrell
I am unapologetically in love-
this cottage of uneven floors
crooked windows and pocked surfaces.
Its soul is deep in its self
with a charming countenance
like an elderly aunt
whose halo goldens the air.
Walls of faded jade and aquamarine
welcome angels and sinners alike,
unburdened
Psalm
sky breaks open
a shell pink morning
waking birdsong and church bells
lawn mowers and sirens
all reaching up into the blue blue
heavens of cloud and wing
rejoice, O Living
see the sky and wind
rejoice and be glad, O breathing Beings
this is the day
rejoice and be glad
household saints
small saints of the household retain
all their color and aura
as the sun sets later each day
on the creek's western rim
and the new moon rises
to smile through my evening window,
bowing eastward in vespered silence
and tender mercies of the day
pebble of joy 4/16/2024
humble afternoon occupation
mending the world
one tear at a time
*** I’m sewing up holes in my husband’s pockets and it occurred to me that if we all went about mending one small thing, soon all the large things would be made whole.
Just a thought…..
counting stars
each point a memory of light,
a time before, and now.
now when time stretches
into long April afternoons
filled in by dappled shadow
light filtered by time.
stars come out across the garden
each with its own name
passing into dusks shade
as lullabies and bedtime stories.
we sleep like children, safe
under night skies.
one day
One day I will see you for the last time.
We might be passing
at the farmer's market
or crossing the street to visit for a moment.
I might hug you,
say I love you,
smile and move on.
Or I might linger,
listening to you smile
and touching your hair.
It might be raining
or cold
or a morning so bright
it will bring tears to your eyes.
after the storm
Picking up branches trimmed by wind and rain in last night's storm, I come upon a small toad warming in the morning sun, blinking and smiling to himself, enjoying his small toad life.
***
Choosing the color of the morning sun
for wings
small yellow butterflies
spring up from bright green clover
***
Spring from her bed
roused by thundered dreams
rises into incandescent light
pebble of joy 4/11/2024
resolutions resolve
into light rain tapping
at my morning window
resolute in its grayness,
not hesitating to rainbow
at the slightest glimmer of sun
The Course of Our Seasons 