Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Slanted red rays paint the lawn
Bare branches reveal the rainbow sky
A voice on the phone, and a squirrel’s disapproval
And another familiar voice in song
I become acquainted with new verses
While my eyes drink in the world.
Tears fall, inspired by sight or sound
As my footsteps meander up and down terraces.
Six months from now this would be midafternoon
And green leaves would hide the horizon;
But now is the dark time of year.
It’s been colder, but it’s still chilly
Up on Corey Hill
I’m grateful that I left the house
Before long darkness descends
Desk rainbows might delight
But the day exists beyond the windows.
Yesterday I had company on this route
And the dog behind the fence barked at us
Today that guardian and I share silence:
Does that mean I’m welcome along this private path?
Chosen way up and back down
I mourn over tree stumps but still enjoy the view
That the absence of the trunks provides
Looking down on rooftops and over distant hills.
I try to capture the sky with my camera
No justice for the brilliant red-orange
Of clouds or airplane trails
Lines and squiggles, as if painted
Beauty in the interaction of technology and nature
Reminds me of satellites among the stars
The attentional draw of the unusual
Nature as canvas, but it’s just a moment
And those colors would be there without us.
I think of all the stories of the occupants of this world
Footsteps in mud, what story does the earth hold?
I realize the possibility of witnessing
Intention born to speak truth and beauty, when I can
Though I am so quickly reminded of how easy it is to run
From even casual conversations with neighbors.
Why is it so scary to connect?
I always wonder at how oaks retain their leaves
When all the other trees have expelled theirs
Are they exempt from the danger such lingerers bring?
Surreal brown against blue in the street light.
The roses are the special treat
Color of the sunset
The same garden that held autumn’s
Surprising bounty of color
I think of you again, as then
Grateful for the gifts of gardeners
Of flowers and our souls,
Grateful for December’s blooms
Light in the dark season.