heat stumbles into open doors and windows
bringing humid air that prickles my neck
raising tiny curls under my hat
storms in the offing as I trim roses
spent and curling. Its May
time enough for Spring storms
rumbling across green fields, wheat
not ready for harvest, bows
to the coming wind
Morning sun stretches, reaching
through the fully greened trees
into the arms of iris and daylilies,
incandescing each petal until the glow
catches the whim of passing bees
and butterflies who appear as if by magic tricks of light and air alchemy
spinning dross into golden May
The tree is gone, cut down and stacked in the wood pile.
Ungainly and unwanted, except for those few hours of glorious flower
though not enough to be wanted, cherished, valued.
It is gone and now...
open-ness
A feeling of space, room to breathe. An expanse only dreamed of.
Now fully formed into...
More
From subtraction, addition.
A place to hold dreams, to breathe, to know
***
with loss comes new vistas
external insight
internal wisdom
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
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
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
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.
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
rain has cleared for the afternoon
as sun pierces cloud in irregular beats
of cardinal song.
what deliciousness is stirred after the rain.
lovingkindness and mercy on the breeze, caught
in waking trees, branch budded and blossomed.
my parched soul is quenched
by blessings showering down,
rainbowed and prismed in afternoon light.
insistent, urgent
color not glimpsed until that first rainy day
when GREEN will not be ignored
The Course of Our Seasons 