On Taking Turns

Our spring bird’s about to be sprung. But often, before she has sung, that rude man called Summer struts in like a bummer and belts at the top of his lungs.

January 7, 2026

Who would think it January? Not the birds chatting eagerly as they zoom from branch to branch, not the tiny blue flowers, newborn among the weeds, and not I, warmed by sunshine and emboldened by the wind. Together, we savor this slice of Spring served so early in the year, the dead world stirring to […]

Though Sunlight Wanes

Sure though the light that led me through the day and hastens quickly to its wint’ry bed should deign to paint the clouds like kids at play: spilling flame and orange overhead, and though the shadows gath’ring round would dance their undulating coldness as the wane of mirthful brightness turns at last askance and closes […]

A Tree Converses

A tree converses in a quiet way, tossing branches, arching in the spring. It greens it’s welcome, verdant home away for birds who’ve traveled, longingly on wing. – I tree in summer wears its glory light richly pleased at how it lines the cloud it stands attention, cooly tempers bright with shady silence, helpful and […]

New Life

That tree, leafing green dead, gray, ungrown just last fall, chirps forth in new song. – – – Photo by Alexey Demidov: https://www.pexels.com

Expectation

The fall of the leaves never is the end, whatever sorrow mingles with the wind like tears, however the touch of winter’s icy fingers shock and still with the chill of death that lingers on like years. For vows inscribed on circuits of the earth cannot be broken on their way through dearth and drear. […]

That Man

That man with the black umbrella swishes through the rain. Puddles swirl reflections as he stalks away. – – Photo by Atharva Tulsi on Unsplash

Showdown

Eyes slant. Sun flares bright. Dust ghosts swirl between. He squints across where his opponent stands. Appraises. Time. ticks. slow. All around watchers holding breath in tight lipped silence. Tilts hat down. Readies feet. Waits his beat. Fired like crackle flame flying from the hand marked, slight change rise connecting– snapped with metal ring And […]

Spring Cold

Life blows blurry bleary and a fog, ripped dripping fliffing on a hot cup tea held, coughing in my words and sniffling scratchy in my throat like blanket wrapped all ‘round shoulders as, clearing throat, shiver in the summer weather. – I hate colds. – – – Photo by Lisa Hobbs on Unsplash

Surprised

Still expecting winter, I found a violet in the moss.