Early
morning sun
dances across the inlet
in a blizzard of light
tags
a falling
leaf
then darts up the hill
weaving through the trees
in a game of hide and seek
Thousands
of gold flecks
swirl through the air
lifted on the wind –
while winter lies
in wait around the next corner
Temporarily blinded
I pause to revel
in this display of summer’s last laughter.
Unable to reconcile a relative of the onion growing among grape vines…
Against the antique oak rocker in the alcove leans a needlepoint begun decades ago (18th century American primitive re-created in my hand and style with woolen yarns and carefully selected stitches) Cart roads lead from the ‘big’ house, past out buildings and wild vines heavy with grapes (Norton?) – down at the river, a sailing…
1 June Journey back home it all began in California. before we left. Hope Remember when the world was not big enough and somedays were only whispered musings on a summer evening? what made this place any different from a hundred other places? Feelings of anticipation and uncertainty we are finally going home. a little…
August hangs heavy in the air uncomfortably cloaking all who venture outside August forced open its eyes later this morning than yesterday labored breathing hissing over soon ssooooon (I found a cicada lying silent in the street on my morning walk today) What happened to May’s sweet promise the glittering dance of June July’s sultry…
At first a few leaves lay scattered on the ground but by Wednesday whole yards were covered Lawns returned to green only when weekend gardeners shredded and swept the interlopers It is early August, yet the Tulip Poplar doesn’t care Years ago, its broad yellow leaf intrigued me, as reaching between the Manual of Woody…
Words come framed, measured, controlled – ‘I have some bad news” how else is there to say it? Bad news is always bad I answer in kind (and it is never enough) how else is there to respond? and we reflect, philosophize (chase guilt?) we are adults Long ago December my father lay, dying of…