I read somewhere about writing a quick little poem each day. Like a snapshot of a thought or something seen.
In spring as the sleeping world wakes up, there is a lot to see!
These are literally first attempts, and may never go any further!
April 20, 2017
Today I woke up to the plonk, plonk of rain on the metal roof. The fog distorts what is outside my window. The cat rolled over to have his belly rubbed. That’s all it seems to take to free him from whatever cats are concerned about.
The fog makes the air feel cool, but is also like a blanket or shield. It cuts me off from the cars on the road, the power line that divides the view of the hill and the planes flying into and out of the nearby airport. The house is dark without the morning sun and it amplifies the quiet, nested feeling.
My coffee tastes bitter in a way that is not good and I wonder why I don’t go back to drinking tea which I enjoyed. Because there is something grown-up and American about drinking coffee? And that is what I want to be?
Little green leaf buds on the apple tree outside the window hold a promise of a future beauty and deliciousness. Bursts of yellow zip past the leaf buds as the goldfinches search for a tasty morsel. In the distance a woodpecker works harder: rat-a tat, rat-a-tat. Pounding into wood. Ouch.
Today opens shrouded in diminished visibility, but the birds and buds force a reminder of what is still at work even in the fog of unknowing.
Friday April 21, 2017
The world framed through the window of a car. Spring shades of chartreuse and pink, hints of a fullness still to come. Rolling hills that appear to be confused by the season instead boasting red, yellow and brown. Not all buds blush in the same shade in as they greet Spring.
To the left are lush hills, verdant muted in the mist and fog. Life is awakening as it bathes in the soft spring rain. Wind turbines spin and dance in a mesmerizing choreography. They look like giant pinwheels twirling on a hill top.
To the right the green is grayed from clouds of a different type. Cement silhouettes of power plants loom over small towns where the folk there retell the story that the plant allows them their lives. The unfriendly stacks look like game pieces of enormous dimension. They belch clouds that are misshapen and not at all beautiful. Coal mines cut the land, creating contours of destruction and scaring. The land looks hurt. Here and there, like poorly healed bellybuttons are the birth signs of fracking wells. Ugly and belligerent.
Up and down goes the road. Shades of green change and mingle in each mile. Here and there is a dogwood in bloom,crisp and fresh.
To the left and to the right. Framed through a window.
Driving through a cemetery looking for lost ones. Found, resting up a gentle incline. Together still after a century and then some. Resting here are the ones who could not foresee this moment of gratitude from the living to be standing here. Two more generations pause to ponder.
Turning, the eye can only see more and then more of those who were loved, hated, mourned and now, for some, forgotten. Small stones to hold a name and mark a place Tall obelisks and ornate templesque mausoleums. Mature trees and fading lilies form Easter service the week before.
Down the road, a park with trail lined with blossoming sedum and trillium. Did those at rest walk here?
April 23, 2017
Ribbons of rock
Along the road in Pennsylvania, where the earth has been dynamited to make way, are ribbons of rock. Undulating to the point of almost heading straight up. What force moved the ribbons of rock. Laying bare each time stopped layer of the past?
April 25, 2017
Happy Birthday to me!
I am blessed by the honor of having others in my life. I am who I am because I have been loved, fed, nurtured by others. I do not stand alone but on the shoulders of all those before me and next to me.
April 26, 20017
The gap between my birthday and my dad’s. I called my cousin today to cry over the death of her sibling. Tears of sorrow and relief.
Memories came back.
I do not want to fear death. Will I?
April 27. 2017
The flowering quince opened her coral colored blossoms yesterday.
This morning the Baltimore Orioles are singing.
April 30, 2017
The time of year when windows frame blossoms in all the shades of pink and white. Lilacs hint at purple.
It is a happy time. A beautiful time.
Stop and look around.
May 5, 2017
The Baltimore orioles are singing.
May 6, 2017
flashes of tangerine
bounce from branch to branch.
bounce like popcorn
as the Baltimore orioles flit and jump.
May 7, 2016
Blossom petals are raining in the rain.
Birds sing in delight at something I do not see.
A turkey stands in the yard. In the rain.
Looking and watching.
She is alone.
My eyes search and my heart races.
I arrive in anticipation, and then I hear…I follow the song.
A perfect, fleeting splash of color, barley hidden
Tells me I am not alone.
I know the Baltimore oriole has stole my heart.
The clouds today looked so soft.
Like pulled threads of cotton.
It was hard to look away.
Long day. Driving home. Windows down I hear the song as I pull in. Sitting in the car just listening. The world slows down as do my thoughts. Just listening brings calm.