Insects large and small flit
through the lemony filter of dense canopies.
In hushed whispers we point to a clearing
where a roe fawn nibbles at pine needles.
Clouds soft as cotton brush the crowns of ancient trees
below a hanging mist clings to blonde foothills.
You pluck a marigold to tuck behind my ear
your golden hand print left on my thigh.
I wind a garland of leaves around your wrist
close enough to run my fingers through your hair
carry your scent back home with me.
Deborah Gryka “Turtle Woods”
On a thorny stalk
wrapped in leafy veins
heavy with the burden
of viscous dew
for the love of light her
corolla lifts upright
a broad faced still life
anchored to the earth
she tracks the sun across
an unpredictable sky
At dusk she combs the air
with sweetness retreating
at twilight into
pearly pools of the moon.
photography by heart
I can hear the chatter of anxious birds. The wind and rain have shredded their nests. A sudden flight of wings fill wispy petals of clouds passing over.
Wandering further beneath the tall pines I hear their creaking branches stretch like old bones. Needing to be heard, the brittle crunch of leaves beneath my feet make their sound.
A White tail deer watches warily from a grassy knoll, his majestic antlers in silhouette against the splintered rays of sunset. My breath is but a whisper in this sacred place that offers everything and asks for nothing.
art by Lazada Philipine
From my swing
I spot the Monarch
sipping from a nectary,
gently I snare him
by his dew drenched wings.
I wonder if he knows
his fate lies in my hands.
Clutched between my fingers
imagine how his heart pounds.
I know I love you
because when I think
of you my heart feels full,
a pool choked with water hyacinth,
Thirsty roots reaching deep
into beds of longing
overflowing walls of need
where I am so afraid to fall .
Because I love you I forfeit my privilege
drown in you as though you are liquid.
Vincent Van Gogh
to prune but wilted petals
wave provocatively from
dried shrubs here among the
famished flowers and the fading sun is
pleasing on my bare back.
Sticky tongues of desiccated lizards
flick the spidery veins of elongated
roots plucked without mercy from the
Dew drops glisten on scars and nicked
fingers bleed from circumcised petals
sheathed in thorns.
I know it it is too early but the languishing
garden screams out for structure,
the need to be in control again.
Art by Jill Martin
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.
A young birch sways
like a newborn giraffe
its limbs lean out over
wilted grass and ochre
vines wind a marble sentry
whose eyes never flinch
but guard eternal while
winter snow stacks on
solitary bones until May
winds stir the crowns of
trees filled with the wails of
wingless birds powerless
to fly on.
In the moonlight a shimmer
of anemone flowers wash ashore
settling among pearls of sand.
Gossamer beams spill down
where there is no need for words below
a sky of muted stars driven to be near
We are the sigh of winds
Echoing over high cliffs cascading from from murky walls of caves and back again
Tethered to nothing we are
free of burden, golden sand enticing the
current through ancient reefs,
released forever back to the sea.
Coral Reef from Google
In the hour before dawn when the stars still hold on to the velvet sky, stealthy specters rise, pull on layers of clothing and slip silently into the low lying fog. Father let the car roll down the driveway signalling me with a fingertip to his lips to make not a sound for fear we would wake the sleeping who might want to intrude on our secret adventure just for two. The engine purring like a cat hummed down the deserted highway to a slab of pavement leading to the bay. From there the scent of Gumbo Limbo and salty mangrove drifted through our open windows. Parking between two boulders we walked to the craggy shore. The horizon glowed in lush amber, waves so far away, tidal sand came alive with trifles of tiny seas where a bug eyed Hermit Crab hurriedly dug his hiding hole. Provocative anemones waved their fuchsia fingers at lilac colored algae where a Starfish tiny as a tear waited patiently for a finger to regrow. The squawk of Sea gulls invoked by the rising sun signaled us to move along. In the full light of day we sat silently on the sea wall, the sound of crashing waves pounding in our ears.
Photo by Brocken Inaglory