It’s morning and winter’s gray stiffness pins me to the dirt. Somewhere, in a narrow crawl space of my mind, there is the inkling of hazy disappointment. It’s the first day of spring and I’m cold. Not chilly. Not in need of a light jacket to get me through the short frostiness of daybreak. I’mContinue reading “It’s Almost Time”
Is it not wonderfully strange that even under the dying light of an old summer – amber, sun-hungry birch leafages flit about beds of clover and twinkle in the rays of morning like wind-shaken grains of sand on the beach of a nameless jungle?
Turn away but a moment and fall seizes the land Now the honey locust rests and autumn’s blonde trim hurries about the grove Patience, October! Your time will come
A cocktail is best enjoyed on the shore of a noiseless pond as the little forest of bur oaks begins to go bronze.
Sun meets wave, the surface writhes with violent sparkles, and the pond is a crater of boiling lighting.