How far? I ask
(is the ocean)
whenever we are somewhere
the ocean is not –
often comes the reply
“not far..”
(Perhaps a few hour’s or a day’s drive)
‘Not far’
is a distance measured
on the scent of a breeze
something palpable in the atmosphere
in fog rolling across the land
‘Not far’
is the rhythmic, plaintiff cry
marking that place
where shore and sea
precipitously meet.
No sooner had the calendar turned its page to December then God spread His blanket across the eastern half of the continent. Pre-empting deck the halls and fa-la-la, deer stayed in their thickets and geese fell silent. Caught by surprise littlejennywren darted from her berth ‘neath the boat cover and chattered incessantly at our back…
Her worn collar long faded and stained used to be hot summer pink with lime-colored palm trees dancing ‘round Set against a pale yellow-white coat – she might as well have been wearing diamonds Later came the grass and mud, chocolate (swiped pastry) and a few garden remnants… over time each stain became an embedded…
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…
I hear the cicadas buzzing and find their cast-off clothing in the garden Yellowing leaves are stuck to the patio table Summer’s hot breath doesn’t fool Fall is poised right around the corner. Ugh.
Dusk along the lane only foundations remained we traced them with our feet stumbling occasionally I stood inside one he – just outside the one next door for one moment music lingered on the warm humid breeze in September of 1941 there was no carnage The old runway evoked pre-dawn mornings the palpable drone of…