In Like a Lion

Golden Trumpets

In Like a Lion

It seems that the rotation of the earth
speeds up and
gravity is loosened just a bit
as the gusts pull
at everything standing.

The creaks and moans
of the buffeted trees
carry across the ridge
with flying leaves
from swaying blackjack oaks.

Whips of forsythia
slice yellow over their heads
while the daffodils
hold onto their bonnets
and small birds hide
in the pollen sugared cedars.

The Physics of Hummingbirds

Hummingbirds 1

What vast endurance
must these tiny creatures brave-
such grace
and nimbleness in flight.
Aerial dancers, swift and light,
embellished gems
of emerald and rubies in their wings-
crucial feathers, dignified
by alloyed gold and steel.
How do these trembling hearts
force fire
into wing and bone,
hollow and mercurial?
Enhanced essence of air
streamed from nectar of flowers
elegance equaling
the energy expended.
What formulae of geometry and physics
can prove these creatures?
What wing,
what heart,
what soul?

*** Our hummingbirds, that have graced our yard with their presence all spring and summer, are leaving for their winter homes in Central America. I took one feeder down today to wash and store for the arrival of next Aprils guests. The other 2 feeders will stay up for a few more weeks. I always like to leave at least one feeder out- just in case there is a slow poke heading south that needs a rest and a little snack for the trip.

the summer’s last evening

last summers evening 3

autumn joy 2

september garden

sedum pot

last summers evening2

last summers evening

The light has lost its harsh intensity.
Earth’s tilt has nudged the sun
into an angle
less summer
and more autumn.
Setting the changing leaves
into a different hue
perfect for the falls rubies
and gold.
Walking the gravel path
on this last summers evening,
we talk in low voices
so as not to disturb the flowers
and the butterflies, busy
with their own seasons changes.
I am anxious to shed this summer-
its days long
and its light, too intrusive.
Autumn will cool my brow
and give my weary eyes rest
until I can sleep in winters
long dark night.

August

fall - flowers2

The heat scours the landscape
and the humidity wraps itself in my hair,
creating damp ringlets against my neck.
The rustle of desiccated leaves,
scratching the dry itch
of the hot southern breeze,
is all that’s left of the garden.
Rooms remain darkened,
shades pulled
against the late afternoon sun,
with only the sound of the ceiling fan
in the drowsy halflight.

It is August
and the summer has been long.

what is a wristwatch to an oak tree

July sunset

The sun is rising farther to the south
inching each day to the true east
to the equinox
Gnomon
the one who knows
his shadow casts the lengthening light across
the figured stylus
away from numbers and chimes
but into nature’s time
Time is not linear
but round
a spiraling cycle of sun and moon
Persephone’s choice
of resurrection and renewal
rising from the withered vine
to abundant grape and glory
only to wither again
Modern time is only a construct of conceit-
man controlling his minutes and hours
each tied to his wrist
or tucked into his vest pocket
to be worshipped
or rebuffed
or excoriated
until his final breath
But the old oaks stand
unhurried by the numbers and chimes
moved only by the moon’s tides
and the sun’s chariot travels
from light into light into light