Blue-Eyed Mary
Woolen breeches
Bluebells, violets
Dutchman’s breeches.
Trillium, Sweet William
Jack in the Pulpit
May Apple, Buttercup
Germander, Henbit.
Spiderwort, Bergamot
Pokeweed, Bloodroot
Horsemint, Milkweed
Black-eyed Susan.
All these and more and more and more
live upon the woodland floor
and I in my boots go stomping o’er
these woods that I’ll love forevermore.
White cat poses in a window
two girls walk to school
cardinals call forth and back
a screen door opens closes opens.
Life rolls on out beyond our
awareness past any boundaries
we understand weaving us all
together endlessly loving our
children counting sorrows
and blessings observing each
other through our own lenses
knowing so little.
Ease and contentment
on this cool April morning
geese honk overhead.
There they were again
that couple the lovely two
he peeking mischievously
around the corner at me
she following along behind
both of them smiling despite
his constant back pain
now riding a scooter
claiming there are no
bad days counting
himself blessed
forty years sober
now helping others.
Two by two the people go
How they do it I cannot know
But round and round the world they go
Two by two, to and fro.
God or Nature has given us
a cloudy wet morning and I
will take that happily today
I’ll take it all happily even
the painful catch in my neck
the awful smells of my two dogs
the ache in my elbow
the roof that persistently leaks
for whatever reason I cannot know
for I have climbed over a hump
a hillock really that once seemed
a cliff with only a jumping-off
place on the other side
climbed over it to find of all things
bluebells! violets purple and white
(and even yellow) two box turtles
one large one half grown
a flutter of chickadees
a merry creek rolling on and on
never giving up never saying
Oh I have so had it with these rocks
this fallen tree that bend those two ducks!
but going on as a creek will do
just because that is what
a creek will do and so
if you please
will I.
Stumbled upon a hillside of bluebells
never before seen by me
in the lushly green mossily
green thickly green woods
of my wanderings and
my heart already tenderly
rendering love notes noted
that I this humble I am free
(miraculously) to be and breathe
exactly here precisely now
utterly perfectly wantonly
present for this marvel
we call simply
Spring.
Lace curtains billow like sails
in the cool morning breeze
with bluejays for gulls
hanging overhead and I
am the captain of this boat
that is my bed with two
stout fellows, one
fierce the other lazy.
Me hearties!
Soon we shall spy land
a not too distant shore
where we shall disembark
to go in search of
mushrooms and wildflowers
carrion and enemies (to each
his and her own mischief).
Tonight we shall board this ship
again in readiness for
tomorrow’s expedition.
Essence of spring:
newly mown grass
wild onion
wood smoke
a wisp of lilac
carried on a
cool evening breeze.
Clearly the lilacs grow weary of being
fragrant and beautiful as they only
do it for a little while in spring
after which time
they let themselves go
their blooms fade away
they put out a bunch
of leaves and sit comfortably
in the background all summer
then go completely bare again
in October. No one blooms
all year long. No one
should have to.
Not even me.