Funny
isn’t it
how late afternoon is also
early evening
and is (just as surely)
– night –
depending on the time of year
In the
scrapbook of my
memory
I will always
see the two of you
in a summer’s late afternoon
He settled
on the top step
of your Cathedral Street front porch
you – ever so slightly resting against his shoulder
Who
knows what story
you were browsing in the day’s news
Driving into the neighborhood tonight rain lightly falling, two fawns nestled in the common area lingering in the moisture-laden darkness A few curves away two adult deer ran alongside my car for some distance before leaping ‘cross the road and on to the creek The rain finally came grand thunder, lightning, hail (and power outage)…
Sometimes life smarts – well, backward glances and forward hopes perhaps Examining – or not what it means to live a life “well lived” Striving to shoulder daily responsibilities, the shoulds, oughts, musts – while necessary – perhaps noble in some small way? Sometimes in quiet moments of reflection, it feels as if the shouldering…
December had barely finished spelling out its name, yet huge, wet snowflakes silently …
Tumbled by the ocean through a sea of sand sharp edges begin to break Larger surfaces slowly acquire a brushed satin appearance trapping the light inside and the edges finally wash smooth Not unlike a cherished memory locked in the heart and softened by time
I know I hear the silence more and some times catch myself listening to cars approaching from up the street Sitting on the front steps at night the stars are so beautiful, they almost make me cry Some times I can’t explain how it feels.
My daughter says ‘Mother Earth always wears a watch’ How does She know what color to paint the sky? or when to quiet nature’s sounds? Absentmindedly she reaches for a bunch of colored pencils.