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…..
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 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.
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
resolutions resolve
into light rain tapping
at my morning window
resolute in its grayness,
not hesitating to rainbow
at the slightest glimmer of sun
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
Its a soft morning
with not a hint of the hoopla
the afternoon will bring.
The moon is making her way along her chosen path
to an hour when she meets the sun
in darkened minutes. Their assignation witnessed by millions of eyes, shaded, looking upon their celestial kiss.
Its all splendid nonsense.
But nonsense I fully endorse.
Better to look up to the skies,
feel the cooling shadow, welcome
its beauty. No fear, no dread,
no worry for safety or security.
Just joy, only joy,
in the shadow of the moon.
village farmer's market opening day
strawberries, broccoli and a pumpernickel loaf
plus a small eucalyptus for the garden
I sit on the bench at the bottom of the garden
listening to the exuberant repertoire
of a young mockingbird, perched high overhead.
His songs of robins, cardinal, titmice and bells,
crow calls, car alarms, a variety never fails
to enchant the lucky audience of one.
The Course of Our Seasons 