In winter
I dream of such greens/
in lazy pools and streams
of shadow,
indolent,
sleepy,
like deep breathing
of quiet ocean/
in yellowed splotches
of summer’s hooray,
warm with memory
of sprinkler jumping,
chigger scratching,
shrilling
ready or not!
from neon popsicle mouths,
like the clover-drunk
sun-crazed bees
in happy ferment/
until,
panting,
we fall into that shade pool
and the green seeps into
our dreams.
Oddments 
June 28, 2020 at 11:36 am
Nice, Maureen. Beautiful photo and lovely words. Happy Sunday, and I hope you have several feathered friends visit today.
June 28, 2020 at 11:48 am
Thanks, Judy, and a happy Sunday to you, too! Any feathered friends that visit today will be waterlogged for sure. Between the storms and the Saharan sand, we are missing the sun. However, the rain is a real blessing and the plants are dancing jigs all around. Maybe the herons will dance a jig too — THAT I’d like to see!
June 28, 2020 at 12:36 pm
This is a lovely and evocative image.
June 28, 2020 at 12:38 pm
Thank you, Shirah! I am ever in awe when these stately birds appear.
June 28, 2020 at 1:59 pm
Beautiful, both photo and poem! I hope I can remember this image, come the winter!
June 28, 2020 at 2:19 pm
Thank you! Indeed, it might come in handy along about February.
June 28, 2020 at 3:38 pm
You’re back! Happy to see that your muse has returned. Thanks for the lovely image.
June 28, 2020 at 4:14 pm
You’re welcome! The pond never ceases to amaze me. I do hope my muse is back, but it took me days to write this and so I think she’s just kind of wafting back and forth overhead, uncommitted and unfocused. She can be like that.
June 30, 2020 at 10:24 pm
Your muse did a fine job with this one. I loved the idea of clover-drunk sun-crazed bees in happy ferment.
Can I ask why you sometimes use / at the end of a line?
June 30, 2020 at 11:25 pm
My muse and I thank you. That slanted line rescues me from punctuation quandaries sometimes. I want to show a break that isn’t quite the same as a grammatical break. Also I wanted to try to find a way to indicate parallel descriptive sections: the shade green and the sun green, each ending with a simile. Also I want to be like Emily Dickinson. Her dashes rescued her too, I think. Poetic license or just plain cheating? I’ll ask my muse.
July 1, 2020 at 7:20 pm
I shall bear that in mind. I have some of her poems but must not have paid enough attention. I trust your muse granted license – for what it’s worth I would have done too.
July 1, 2020 at 7:26 pm
I’m very glad to hear that! Yes, my muse gave permission. Grudgingly, it must be said.