Seen With Joy

I see him in you sometimes.

He lives in yours eyes,

behind your brow,

and in the bridge of your nose where it crinkles when you grin.

He comes with joy.

Tree Frogs at Night

I love tree frogs at night,

the back and forth,

the give and take,

the way the air vibrates,

on one side first, and then the other.

There’s comfort in their noise,

in the way they fill darkness with sounds of life..

I listen and remember,

I’m not alone.

On My Own

Her hair was young.

Her face was not.

Her eyes, behind glasses, were quick.

Her hips were wide.

Her smile was not.

Her hand, on your collar, familiar.

I watch as you see her;

the tousled hair, and past the glass, the eyes,

which though focused on mine, fill yours with a light I barely remember.

And I know what I might never have guessed…

on my own.

Goodbye

I won’t say “Goodbye”.

You can’t make me.

The word is too strong,

it’s meaning too clear,

the emptiness implicit in it’s utterance too near.

I won’t say “Goodbye”.

I don’t want to.

I’ve done this before.

I know that it feels

like a door has been slammed on the wake of my heels.

I won’t say “Goodbye”.

But, you can.

I’ll hear what you say

as I walk away,

and you’ll hear my silence as a promise to stay.

On the Cusp

She’s been here before.

She knows the arc,

the curve that hugs her hips.

From this place she sees it all.

The places she could go,

the person she could be,

and all the reasons she won’t and can’t be.

Age and experience.

Time and distance.

On the cusp of crazy.

Southern Snow

Snow falls as thick, fluffy, wads of ice that slap the tops of puddles left by yesterday’s rain.

The grumbling sound of thunder accompanies the shouts of children undeterred from summer pastimes, as a baseball splits the flakes on its way to a tobogganed batter.

Paddled cactus fronds bend with fluffy, white weight.

Birds jump about leaving three-pronged impressions in the green and white lawn, while, seeing them, the dog pauses at the back door, unwilling to brave the blizzard despite the temptation.

But, he watches.

From his perch in front of the windows, his ears perk as he watches white stuff fall from a pewter colored sky, covering everything it touches. He watches hooded, mittened children run and play, and gather slush, crunching it between hands they no longer feel, before hurtling it at the nearest unsuspecting target. I wonder what he thinks…

I join him at the window, and wrapping myself in my own arms as a guard against the icy glass, we marvel at the wonder and beauty of a southern snow.

Conjuring Spring

A warm breeze greets me

Bird scatter on the rush of wings, camouflaging scampering squirrels

As the sun squeezes between outstretched branches to caress newborn leaves

And, my face…

Conjuring spring…

Content

I feel it emerging.

I know it will be fleeting.

I wish I could capture it,

and savor it,

and keep it for the next time

when I really need it;

Contentment.

Sunrise

The sun rises slowly.

As she bravely shows her majestic head,

she warms, first, the lowest and darkest parts of our landscape.

And, if I am present…if I pay attention, I can see the warmth build as it is accepted.

I can watch, and marvel, that the sensation becomes a living thing, all it’s own,

as she is joined in her efforts by those she has touched.

Lassoing the Moon

It stormed here today.

Not completely unexpected, mind you. But after several days without a cloud, one becomes hopeful the storm has passed.

For four days and nights, the weather was dry, uneventful, and the clouds separated, more than once, to reveal blue skies and multi-colored sunlight, as I allowed myself to be lulled into a place of anxious comfort.

Before the storms came.

And thunder rolled in the form of a sob that filled my head with sounds no one else could hear.

No one ever, really, lassoes the moon…