I want to revisit the joy of cartwheels in summer grass Serenaded by the wing beats of bees and the chorus of hummingbirds and sparrows I want to drowse amongst dandelions while playing Warshak games with passing clouds in azure skies I want to hide beneath curtains of willow branches Making friends of the trees with whispered secrets
I want to run time backward To when summer days were never ending And daydreams frolicked in the warmth of long lazy unburdened afternoons I want to sit suspended in the amber of youthful memory Its glowing lens casting every scene in warm nostalgic hues Golden hour light cast upon fading Kodachrome images That compose dust mote-filled summer slideshows of my heart
The enduring redwood is dead Meant to withstand Storm and fire and drought Heartwood rotted from within Disease and neglect Claimed their prize A reminder that Sometimes good things die
The world quiets beneath a blanket of white Sounds are muffled Time slows There is no hurry here The landscape sleeps Stillness, like a spell Descends upon all things
My mind wanders about in this peace Leaving no footprints in the snow I am freed of my burdens Allowed to drift like a shade Below the frosted boughs Delighting in the joy of winter’s slumber
I am a spring maiden at heart Celebrating life’s sunshine and rainbows A believer in growth and renewal Optimistic and hopeful
I also hold a dread queen in my soul Content to sit quietly in darkness Observant and calculated Unafraid of the shadows Happy to don my crown Glimmering with pomegranate seeds The color of blood To remind the foolish I am not the one
This brief, beautiful Preview of delightful Autumn With her crisp chilled nights And gray-sky mornings Will be brutally interrupted By Summer strolling Back onto the stage Despite having taken her bow For a sweaty encore That nobody wanted
Days grow shorter Mornings and evenings delightfully chilled Long afternoons warm, hazy, and tea-colored Cool breezes dance from the sea into the valley Making layered wardrobes a must this time of year
The world starts to quiet down Though restlessly at first Unwilling to relinquish summer's vitality Harvest season half complete The trees begin debuting their fall finery Resplendent in reds, golds, and browns As purple hues return to sunset skies
The golden hour earns its name now As the last dandelion seeds drift through dried grasses awash in glowing rays Shadows deepen as homes reflect amber radiance in westward facing window panes Preparing to welcome night's elongating visits earlier each day
The resting season is arriving It carries with it ghostly tales told under cloud-filtered moonlight Candlelight and story craft Blankets, books, and honeyed tea Soups, stews, and baked goods of all kinds Air laden with aromatic spices and yeast
The world grows gradually quieter Chirping crickets slow their masterpieces from allegro to adagio Singing the world into a calmer pace before putting away their instruments Fall readies to welcome dreamers and philosophers Writers and witches All the laborers of the mind and spirit Into its gentle comforting arms
I smoked a joint with the moon She insisted it would allow us to see the world's beauty better As herbal clouds drifted lazily across her round face She rambled dreamily about the midnight sea's endless dance with her voluptuous celestial body Spoke stanzas of star songs Sang of wild wolf hunts and their howling choruses Described forest galleries full of freshly woven spider webs bejeweled with moon-dazzled dew She waxed lyrical about the endless stream of hopes and prayers whispered to her Giggled as she fondly recounted the numerous myths humans had crafted about her I listened contentedly Basking in her hazy light My heavy-lidded eyes glistening half moons themselves Safely ensconced in her keeping
I don't feel well today Reverberating echos of broken dreams Aching pervasive guilt Persistent pointless hope That will not stay snuffed out Nothing is wrong And I hurt just the same
I don't feel well today The sun still rose in a misty pink sky The flowers are blooming and busy with bees Birds sing songs of spring awakening Amongst the newly sprouted leaves Nothing is wrong And I hurt just the same
I don't feel well today Warm afternoon sunlight dries tears That slip from beneath my sunglasses The world assaults my senses Too loud, bright, fast Nothing is wrong And I hurt just the same
I don't feel well today I am told that time heals That I'm doing the right things That I didn't cause it I can't control or cure it Nothing is wrong And I hurt just the same
Curtains of branches and leaves cascade to the ground Creating a sanctuary for childhood dreams beneath The somber sway of weeping willows Hides from common eyes the magical worlds they held for me I made friends of willow trees The trees of my childhood spoke to me They greeted me every time I played in their park There are less of them today But a few still stand Providing mystical playgrounds for new children I wave hello to those trees when I pass them by Hoping they remember the little girl who loved them so well And always will
Words Wishes and Wisdom 