Summers Ebb


The sharp retort of the jays cries
strike the air,
his grief too much for the cedars to bear.
What greater woe is there
than summers ebb?
Yellowing leaves, spent and melancholy,
rain down
as though weeping,
for their passing will soon be forgotten
in winters bare and spare air.
The elegies of wing and wind-
the sighing trees sorrow
in the mourning doves song
of summers passing.

Sunday Morning Rain

July Rain

the morning thunder tosses and turns
across the landscape of our lavender sheets.

The white noise
of steady morning rain,
shushing against heavy green leaves,
lulls us into deeper slumber,
even as the wrensong breaks
with the dawn.

The windows are open to the morning rain.
Cool air seeps into our bed
as we curl like children under the patchwork
of our long marriage.

reflections on a quiet morning

Concentric rings 2

From the quiet cove,
the sound of a fish
leaping from the waters surface-
the ripples unfurl
across the reflection of clouds.

Dark green ripples
spill onto the rocky shore –
the consequence
of unseen movement
the theory of waters longing.

Light chooses its balance
and its path,
from the clouded sun,
from the illusion of water.

East Wind


An unexpected change-
a wind from the east
bringing the scent of lake
and sweet grass
and summers ending.

The meadow grasses ripen
golden tassels of seed float
and sway in the breeze,
bowing to the west
and the hunger
of summers waning
and tiny finches.

August, the month of lengthening shadows
and eastern winds,
the month of fields
golden and heavy with harvest,
the month of summers waning
and all that entails.

Sitting on the porch
as the eastern wind
rings through the old chimes,
playing a new tune
-I find myself singing
in harmony with the changing winds.


Concentric rings

I walk to the waters edge,
dislodging small turtles
from their precarious perches on the fallen branch
-their tiny splashes ripple across the dark water.

The scent of green vegetation
and still water hangs heavy in the morning air
fresh and sour
at the same time.
Tiny butterflies ring my head-
a halo of pale yellow wings.

The morning air is thick with humidity
and midges. I can see the vapor rise
from the waters surface-
evaporation, transfiguration,