Unexpected

To my beloved husband with great love and affection on our eighteenth anniversary: you continue to surprise me, all of these years after your initial unexpected appearance as the love of my life!

Digital illustration from a photo: The Base of the WallSnowing Amethysts

At evening, summertime holds breathless sway

When even crickets wait before they’ll sing,

And birds to roost go silent; everything

Takes pause because the lengthy heat of day

Has drawn a shawl of stillness down to lawn

And flowerbed and hedges, ’til a breath—

So shallow it could scarcely ward off death—

Is difficult to breathe ’til the break’s gone,

Until the night resumes its stealthy crawl,

Exhaling with a stirring wind that flies

Up, stirring blossoms upward to the skies,

Their petals dropping, ash-like, down the wall,

Crape-myrtle petals drifting down below

In waves of amethyst, a summer snow.Digital illustration from a photo: Amethyst Snow

Gently into the Night

digital illustration from a photograph

Reparations

While the quiet of the evening draws its curtain on the noise

Day had clamored ’til its leaving, I will lie in calm and poise,

Gently as a bed of lilies bends in summer’s kindest breeze,

As the cat turns, curling, ’til he’s found his pose of greatest ease;

While the dusk falls, silent, deeper into night, my eyelids close

Heavily…I’m soon a sleeper in the stillest of repose…

Midnight finds me softly dreaming, all the day’s loud clatter gone,

‘Til birds chatter at the streaming light of the approaching dawn

While I lie in silent dozing where no sound comes breaking through,

All that shouted ceases, closing restive lips—and spirits, too,

Slip like shades and never flutter more than deepest sleeping sends

To the surface from the utter place of healing and amends;

I will rest here in the solace and the silence so supreme

It can quiet every call as I lie still and, gently, dream…digital illustration from a photograph

Meditations

digital collageStillness at the Edges
I
We stood along the shore at break of day,
The water lapping gently at our heels,
And heard the distant crying of the seals
At gulls for stealing all their fish away–

The dawn was chill and misty, palely blue,
Our hearts in morning shadow just as cold,
And bone and sinew feeling early old
As soul and body waiting day will do–

The sea was restless, slowing at the last
To push up foam as streaky as the clouds
And gather shells and pebbles in those shrouds
Around our feet, we statues standing fast–

All this, because our spirits captive are
Until revived by sun, our morning star.
digital collageII
So lifeless, silent, still and cold are we
When gold has yet to tinge the morning sky,
So empty is the world but for the cry
The seals and gulls raise up in minor key–

So heartless is the morning chill ashore
We stand like stone and cannot take a breath
Until the sun releases us from death
And brings the flame of sentience once more–

At last the light of day draws us to wake,
And we’ll bestir ourselves to act and thrive,
Rejoicing to discover we’re alive
Until the world’s foundations start to shake–

We know the night will come again, and fast,
And so must live each day as if our last.digital collage

Well Grounded

Defying Gravitygraphite drawingOnce upon a leafy glade, a pretty perch in sun and shade,

Where callas leapt into the day from darker places and made play

Of turning winter into spring full suddenly, the single thing

That was most lovely in that place, that clearing full of sweetness, grace

And peaceful calm, was that the birds alighting there, beyond all words

And dreams of nature, sat quite still and quiet, and a subtle thrill

Of magic held the place in thrall–as if amid a concert hall

The orchestra fell silent, yet their silver melodies still set

The air a-quiver, pulsing, live with such wild music as to thrive

Beyond its moment and to sing whether the birds sat or took wing–

The butterflies that came around this glade of gladness also found

It fit to sit rather than fly and flit about the gleaming sky,

And set their wings to capture sun rather than race about and run,

Their painted beauty neatly limned as though tall ships in port had trimmed

Their sails to rest and find surcease in this most gracious bay of peace–

And yet, the clearing’s finest gift was that no butterfly would lift

A wing disturbing stillness there, nor bird stir up the hovering air,

Nor even angel choose to float aloft, disturbing the remote

And pleasant sense of such remove as was existent in that grove–

All this to say, though all could rise and wing their way about the skies,

Each visitor the clearing drew found on arriving that she knew

It was a place whose joy and mirth might make her leap up from the earth,

Yet with serenity so blessed she chose instead to lie at rest,

By flight’s exertions not be led, but letting souls fly high instead.