old stone wall

Stone wall

Great gray stones leave the bank of the river,
stacked with their brethren
between the old cedar trees.
One upon one,
they stand together, shoulder
to shoulder
in deep, masculine force.

Over decades, they settle.
Some, restless, move again
toward the river.
Most hold fast, remembering
their task.

Until, one morning
after the first spring storm of April,
in Springs push
for more,
the old stone wall shudders,
and with a deep sigh,
gives way.
Cedar and stone

*** We went out after the last storm and our old rock wall had fallen. The chipmunks had loosened the soil, giving the rain a place to wash out behind the stones. And it just gave way.
We will restack and make it whole again, but who knows how long ago those stones had been carted up from the river and stacked with their brethren.

sweet and low

sunset

One by one,
the evening stars ignite,
torched by dusk’s retreat
into twilight.

The celestial lamplighter whistles,
sweet and low,
his lullabies to the evening stars
as he makes his way across the night’s sky.

Sweet and low,
he croons his twilight tune
as the stars hover,
ever closer,
to listen.

Come, take my hand,
we will race the stars
to the ridgetop
and sing his lullabies
to the moon,
sweet and low.

ridiculous joy

Spring garden in the Ozarks

The disc turns the soft fragrant earth
across the spring fields while
small moon faced calves caper
and lark,
whisking their tails in triumphant and ridiculous joy.

Ahh Spring-
lover of grinning idiots and foolish hearts,
pied piper of fluting robins and rosy tulips,
midwife of dancing bees and inky tadpoles.

You dress in Edens green,
(you Eve, you Adam)
drawing us into the garden
from which we all fled,
moon faced angels capering at each fence post
their wings tangled in sweet honeysuckle
and ridiculous joy.

The Arrival of Spring

gifts of spring

Gray morning, the last dawning
of this long winter,
from across the water, the sound
of clear silvered piping-

Spring progresses slowly
with her troop
of minstrel robins.

She is wreathed in yellow
forsythia,
fresh and tender,
early buds of warming sun.

Her delight,
the laughter of tulips
and the bashfulness of daffodils,

Spring smiles
and blossoms.

The Wren and Her Song

Receding fog on the cove

Receding fog on the cove

We woke to deep fog.
Air so thick with moisture, water droplets formed on everything. We were drenched just taking our early morning walk with Theo.
As the clouds began to lift and the morning began to brighten, the brilliantly clear and LOUD song of a wren pierced the misty air.
As more of the fog receded and the sky became brighter, the louder her song. She was very proud of her effort and continued in full throated triumph until the sun had broken through and the skies revealed the beautiful sapphire blue of late winters day.

small brown wren
in glorious song
singing as if she alone is responsible
for the rising of the sun