Je vois une femme
mais, je ne peut pas voir
ce qu’elle voit
(sitting alone in the garden)
I cannot
know what she feels
or is thinking
Have her thoughts been
carried up into le ciel
by a passing coccinelle, or
is she planted
firmly on the ground
dans sa chaise, lost
In the pleasure of the moment
Who knows?
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…
Starting at the river Abercorn charts its course through the Historic District Victorian District, into Ardsley Park where 20th century takes hold and on past bungalows of the fifties and sixties Derenne marks the break where past and present meet the world to the right across the intersection – anachronistically into the sky – rises…
Unable to reconcile a relative of the onion growing among grape vines…
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…
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.
I love the sense of freedom and quiet the sights sounds and smells that I experience on an early morning walk Rabbits silently lope from spot to spot in search of breakfast an old dog greets us from well within his castle gates Occasionally someone else is also up and walking usually (like me) with…