Summer 2017

Only one morning

Spiderwort
before dawn
a cluster of buds
waits
for the light.
One flower may waken
who chooses?

Three petals open,
cut from the cloth
that is the summer sky.
Radiant bloom
until midday
when they tire,
fold,
return to the bud.
Green clasps shut;
within, petals melt
to drops of purple.

At nightfall
the sepals enfold
only the memory
of a flower.

Climbing Raven Rocks

I dance upwards;
below me,
the waves slap the cliffs
and beat the rhythm.

Wind whipped clouds gallop
with flying manes
across the blue plain of the sky.

The wild geese resent
our intrusion;
honking displeasure,
they swoop a warning:
we are guests here.

Amid the cedar fragrance
of summer and freedom,
I lean back
into the arms of the world.
The bluebells

We wandered
into the realm of the bluebells
that dwell in the flood plain
after the spring rains.

Carefully
we stepped
through the blue kingdom
along the streams.

We could not hear
the tiny bells,
ringing with mirth.

But we saw
the great heron lift off
toward the river,
his silent blue winged shadow
gliding over the flowers.
February Blossoms

Humming clouds
of pink,
the cherry trees
bloom fiercely -
a desperate race
against the inevitable
freeze.
Tree Silhouettes
Like dancers,
   the elms lift their arms
     skyward.
The oaks clutch the air
   with gnarled fingers,
bony branches
etched into the pastel evening.

It is time
   to step forward,
uncloaked,
my naked shadow
dancing
on the canvas of the world