Turning

Feel the  changing seasons,

the tilt of the  Earth’s axis,

the days growing longer as

the night  desires to linger.

Summer seemed boundless,

the sundial casts long shadows.

I will miss  you with your

brand of ripeness,

August’s   lustrous brightness

inciting the senses with fields

afire beneath a summer sky.

Now its wheat is  stacked and

bound  in lonely batches.

Buried beneath autumn leaves

the earth  imbues the darker hues

starless skies of delft blue and

gray swathes  that cloak the dawn.

The ash of burning  locust wood

shrouds the wilting garden with

the musky scent of autumn ghosts

heralding the chill.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Windscape

Let me be the  summer sun
who shines for you without expectation.
A  rhythmic  breeze that shapes soft
passages where you travel uncertainty.
Let a  herald of archangels fill your
your heart with unworldly treasure.
I will be  your blood moon,
the swell and pull of tides  that
draw you near.
Ascend with me on a windscape
strung of stars  far from
the world below.

 

September Rains

The rains come late.
Vanilla yogurt clouds
deepening to ripe blueberry.
Winds whip debris
into whirling harlequins
spinning upward through
the crowns of Lindens
where birds weave in and out
wicker feathers
dripping pearly dew
into waxy beds of leaves.
Up higher squirrels hover in rattan
dreys awaiting inky  shadows
That disappear in mottled rays
of dancing puddles and glistening blades

<h5 the sweet potpourri of earth.

 

Summer Garden from Star tribun

 

waxing summer