The weather is blissful and the hummingbirds bountiful
I am billowing full of words bubbling up
Effervescent words that sparkle and coo as I grasp them
Filling my mouth with their heft and taste
Rolling them on my tongue just to see
If they are sweet or tart
Like the blackberry jam
Fresh from the vines
That I spread on my buttered biscuit at breakfast.
A cloud on a hot July day
gives the illusion of coolness in its shadow
but it never drops rain
or the temperature
or even a breeze to evaporate the sweat
as it trickles.
Across the brittle landscape, rabbits pant in the heat
as the asphalt rises in the yeast of the sun
to bloom sticky and black.
Writhing along the road, dust devils
stir up depressions where the small brown sparrows bathe.
and the song of heat swells
in the throats of cicadas. Or is it wings
or appendages that rasp the tune?
Shimmering pale blue water rises
on the road. The heats playing oasis
in this desert of an afternoon. A mirage,
an illusion, a forfeiture of the senses,
summers sleight of hand. A cloud
on a hot July day.
The breeze, cool and fresh, rises from the cove
spilling across the summer meadow
bringing with it the fragrance
of sweet peas and wild roses.
The morning clouds break opening
to the soon to be sweltering sky-
I watch sunlight sparkle on the placid cove
and dream of the sounds of the ocean.
Even this mornings poem
in my inbox
speaks of the splashing foam and
the sound of crashing waves
white sails in the wind
and salt spray against the skin.
So I dress in the colors of sea and sand,
sparkling gulf stream blue, sail white,
glittering gold, pale seaglass green,
and take my dreams along the Ozark ridge
as I walk the small dog
by the placid waters of the cove
under the soon to be sweltering sky.
Will you let their voices fill your heart
with anger and fear?
peace resides there.
and find your place in the world.
Where there is not enough,
sow seeds of peace
and leave knowing that the harvest
will be bountiful.
Wind spills across the morning cove
bringing the scent of water and sun
thru the open window.
Declaring a truce with the world,
I reap peace.
Would it be today
that the world ended?
visions and dreams,
a quick thunderclap
and we would rise
from gravity’s hold
into the sky
by the sudden rush of angel wings
or maybe the great gray heron
or trumpeting wild geese.