On my way up to the mountains two days ago, winter holds on still. Snow showers made for an eerie drive. This dampened my enthusiasm for a peek at spring’s arrival in the mountains. I doubted there would be any evidence, as it turns out I was right. The property was covered in snow encrusted with ice.
now adorned with buds
lure of spring
creek gallups without reserve
spring melt, brazen song of spring
Last night we had four inches of slurpy snow. This dawn, through the rhytmn of the melt, I hear the call of birds in flight. Wonder where they have been!
Last week I was on the hunt for spring in the garden. The wheat brown of winter holds fast. Not much has changed there. The pointy ears of tulips are nowhere in sight. Nothing yet from vines that make their home on the fence.
There are some noticable changes to the pear tree though. The buds that dawdled during the winter, are suddenly more robust. And the yearly co-mingling of the honeysuckle and grape is unavoidable. They are lined up to do what they do – run wild. All caught up in the fervor of march madness!
slurpy snow linger
on bare branches brooding
in the face of spring
A neighborhood cat, black and white, comes strolling through the yard. She is unusually stout for a stray cat. She moves at an oddly relaxing pace. As she meanders through, she stops behind the now cut tall grass. She lays down for less than a minute then gets up, and slinks through the fence to the next yard, to a space behind the shed. She is heavy with child.
on gray autumn day an air of expectation kittens white as snow
Pat R 12/13/18
For (Open Link Night) OLN Night over at the dVerse Poets Pub where Grace is our host for the last challenge of this year with a very inspiring poem. Have a read!
Mother Bea sits in her wooden rocking chair on the rickety varandah. She is placed there every morning. She does not walk. She must be over 80 years old. Even her kids were old. When you are little, everybody is old! I watch her as she watches the daily interactions of the children in the yard. She would make one word prouncements on the goings-on.
Cry baby. Smart. Determined. Thick skull. I often wondered how she arrived at these critiques from such a distance. And more often, just who she was talking about!
at times it’s futile
figuring out which spirit
whisper the loudest
in their attempts to guide me –
probably pointless, thick skull!
For Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday
Where the prompt is synonyms for :
Ghost & Hollow
The morning wears the humidity like a cloak. Through still air, the cries of the hawk from the tree canopy. He seizes the opportunity to buzz the red tailed squirrels, bringing to a halt their morning romp. The morning gaggle of geese wander through like they own the place. All a part of the morning routine around here.
early morning walk
flutter ripple through trees – soon,
autumn wind talking
For Frank Tassone’s Poetry Challenge where the ptompt is Autumn Wind
Hiroshima. It was such a horrendous time. One would think that lessons learned, would prevent the world from such embroilment ever again. Yet, here we all are. With more than one lunatic at the helm. How did we get here?
sitting on the curb
a stunned little boy – quaking,
Today is Hiroshima Memorial Day and over @ dVerse, Frank is hosting Haibun Monday
We are at the back end of the summer. Vacation eases to a close. It feels as though it has mostly been a stormy summer. The garden loves it though, It’s gone wild. Today it’s time for a day at the beach. To be wrapped in ocean breeze and be reminded how small a part I play in this space. Waves scramble ashore, erasing footprints. Tiny gulls rush in for newly arrived treats, and the sun makes the smoothe sand shine.
sound of waves
treking through my dreams –