Category: nature
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Weather report from the Eastern steppes
Carolina wren calls in trees weatherman promises rain by noon chill water wrung from clouds cause more leaves to fall from their perch were they pushed or coerced to leap only Vladimir’s minions know 11-20-24
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Old fruit
blue wings dip and soar above reflected sky flit from red to yellow to green leaves back and forth back and forth and back, again are they playing or courting? maybe both scolding voice, passerine cousins of crows, their only flaw 11-4-23
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Duty stations
dawn prayers (sacred duty) vote in city by election (patriotic duty) rake leaves gathered in our yard (family duty) chicken with hot sauce (personal duty) 11-7-23
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The beauty of dying
floating leaves interrupt an illusion of heaven drowning in water’s reflection Autumn falling up reclines in blue Summer stripped of green fragile beauty revealed before it slips below the surface and is gone 11-9-23
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Yellow leaf
Yellow leaf on branch tomorrow you will fall to ground by Sunday you will turn brown Monday’s squirrels will play in the rattle of your past the wind will chase you to the border of the woods where you may decompose in solitude 11-9-23
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In search of daylight savings
The sun rises slow between trees over houses across from the park and sinks too soon behind the ridge of Hampton’s field. I follow my headlights into the dark Autumn 11-10-23
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F–k Henry David Thoreau
something, unseen, breaks the taut surface of the pond concentric rings reverberate towards the shoreline let’s me know I’m not alone 11-10-23
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Before it rains
Several streets over distant sirens cry. You finish a poem in the New Yorker about a blood stained shadow, peel an orange and wonder if a family, you do not know, has insurance. Tangy citrus lingers on your tongue. You go inside before it rains. 11-10-23
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Autumn rain
Rain pushed the reds, yellows and golds below water’s surface Gentle winds are stitching a new, bright, colored quilt for the pond 11-12-24
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Quietly sitting
because I walk too loud I startled you from your place among the reeds you circled cautiously overhead before you perched almost unseen in a grey tree at the edge of the field how many times have you sat quietly high up in a tree waiting for me to leave so you may return to…
My husband's poetry 