Natural selection came in the night and trimmed our forests. The power went with the trees that fell and the limbs that broke from the burdens of wet snow. Not even the snowplows were ready for this one. Next springs lilacs are going to look like a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree.
Photo by Ray Henness on unsplash site
With a storm front moving in the wind has begun to whip the trees and move the clouds along at a clipper ship clip. Cumulous clouds are billowing full sail in the blustery sky.
As I watch the display of clouds colliding, raptors appear and begin to play. Continue reading
If I were the rain,
I would be less begrudging.
I’d teach Heaven how to beat
a rhythmical drum. I would
speak fluent and decisive electricity. I‘d strike up
a conversation with the wind
and babble with the trees and roofs. If I were the rain,
I’d hammer away as if I could play Continue reading
We head out
in search of adventure, walk
atop stone walls
along Brooklyn Street and peer
into holes, culverts and dead falls. Continue reading
If I were snow,
I’d conspire with the wind.
We’d twirl and dance around your hat
and bite your ears and chin. Continue reading
Where bare branch
they congregate, gossips in tree tops
as the moon sets
quarter drained. Continue reading
The morning dawns
and black sky,
we’re leaving now
to catch the tide.
and fishing poles,
and jelly rolls,
like mallard wings
we shed the rain
and leave behind
the anchor’s chain. Continue reading