spring is coming/august is
just around the corner, you
can count on it, except when
you can’t. the feathers fly in
tasty quarrels over who gets
the banquets of seeds and early bugs; everything prowls
in designer plumage, even
the new batch of tourists
squawking about the view
and sunshine - or lack thereof.
love of winter, bits of suet
help pass the time til they don't.
sturdy and sunlit
steam crawling the walls
to drip triumphantly
on the plants, the
free radicles popping
in jars and baskets
have faith that all this grows -
but in case of burning summer
bring more water
does the tick of my old clock sound like thunder to the wall spider trembling on her web above the fireplace where the feather duster never reaches?
outside a rattle of rain and hail interspersed with - you know the drill, first the flash and then the thunder. once upon a time the boys all called me Flash - but only for the camera, never for the centerfold picture.
and the resonance of egos and bruises rumbles down the web to this day, when the rain falls to the roof that is mine and the life that is mine - do with them what I want to. another bang, another crash.
what if you couldn’t count the moments between light
and thunder? what would that spaciousness tell you?
would it be the pride that goeth before a drama?
would you smile or cower? or would you be attending
to the magical message of the big noise your own
heart beat makes, the shock of each new thought, the
wave of peace that rumbles after? and then the fire….
firsts come in many flavors
returning with the seasons
first sight of the day
first sighting of the year
first sound of dawn chorus
first sounding of the heart
first taste of adventure
first tasting of the anticipated
first scent of what comes next
cross my palm with silver or perhaps
just yellow, for I will pay
in dandelion blooms and tea bits
in a cracked old cup -
for it is May and I seek my fortune,
fate, kismet, and dates and figs
with muhallabia and rose syrup -
or perhaps something more.
when the wind comes down the canyon - disarray! there are thoughts like that, over
and over. if we had a weather map, it would
show a low, followed by a high,again and
again. through life, the systems swell on
through, coiling over the ridges and knocking
at the doors, the roofs, the windows. let's ride
the jet stream of living like condors, taking
the long view if we can. the disturbance
that destroys creates new opportunities
for life/not life to wither or thrive. let's take
one more step out into the wind, and then ...
Joy had gone joy riding as Joy does
staying out past curfew - which pisses off
the Mom and irritates the good-little-girl
sisters and friends – Meek, Mild and
of course Obedient (called Obie for short
even though she just hates that name.)
But Ornery - she just smiles. Such drama
when barefoot-sneaking-in occurs.
“But Mo-ommm, at least I wasn’t
sneaking OUT at 3 a.m.!” Amen, says
the Boyfriend, listening from the street.
small town grocery clerk
hands small town sheriff
a bill and smiles.
"that will be $80."
"looks like I'm the one
who gives the big ticket
this time!" he grabs
the sack and smirks.
"you know, I had
my eye on you as you
drove past today."
"oh... well.... um... "does
it count that I waved?"
he grins and shifts the
bag. "it’s the guilty ones
who wave the hardest."
standing in the treat shop showing nothing but what
is on display on purpose.
well, and so much for that attempted deception!
look deeply in the bottom
of this tea cup: can you find
a desired future; a reclaimed
past - or better - exactly
what the moment brings.
make a choice; take your first
nibble with gusto! it isn’t all
about deserving: the good stuff.
the species list changes from day to day
all the bits interacting in a constant swirl
subject to the limiting factor of the
day or week or month. eight inch goslings,
weeds, noncharismatic microfauna, rot!
the good stuff in and under the pretty
stuff; and not a bit of it static: perilous
thing, life on life on life on life on life -
so messy, thank god, seasonal change