Spring is imminent
I have the certain feeling:
behold the season’s first
spider on the ceiling.
(Ick.)
Category Archives: bugs
September 25.19
On a bland and barren slab of clay
something delicate and fine —
did it touch my path by accident
or was it by design?
A lot of things take on deeper meaning these days, dear reader. I am given much to think about. My grandchildren spent the night with me this past weekend; my fifteen-year-old granddaughter is now a vegetarian because of her convictions. I am trying to reduce plastic in my life. My own aging body tells me daily nothing is forever. A lone butterfly seems to block my way in angry silence. Just my imagination, right?
September 7.19
Gather ye pollen
while ye may
in warm and bright
September day.
Tender zest,
to flower,
to seed —
thus does garden
(and life)
proceed.
With apologies to Robert Herrick.
August 25.19
The hanging basket,
plumply pendant,
becomes a lantern
incandescent,
twinkling August’s
low-flung light
into votives
pink and white.
Summer’s aging
into fall;
twilight’s angle
cuts like awl
through maple leaf
and acorn’d ceiling
while insects call
their raspy reeling.
July 19.19
The dragonfly scratched
his diminutive cranium,
accustomed to suburb’s
petunia, geranium.
I was so close
I overheard:
“What is this?”
his exact word.
July 3.19
Once upon a time
I was so very small
I played in a hydrangea
to me sequoia tall;
above me peeked the sky
through rosy lattice dome,
so magical the place
I wanted never to go home.
I slid down baby leaves
bright green and paper thin,
rappeled on threads of silk,
then climbed back up again.
Parasols of petals
became my firmament
as I lolled in axel cubby
daydreaming, content.
But I felt a tingling change
back to my normal size
and had to hitch a ride
with a pair of dragonflies.
I scarcely could believe
what I saw with my own eyes,
but how frabjous the adventure
you may easily surmise.
Did you know, dear reader, that tomorrow is Alice in Wonderland Day?
I didn’t either.
Usually I’m thanking S.W. Berg for his photo. This photo is mine, but the reminder to celebrate Alice in Wonderland Day is from him. So thanks, Bill. It’s good to remember that a world of absurdities is nothing new.
July 2.19
I am Gardener:
hear me growl.
Voracious brigands
sneak and prowl.
They come by land,
they come by air,
hordes on wing
and hordes from lair.
My harvest shrinks
with every hour
as they attack,
englut, devour.
Coneflowers! Moss roses!
My zinnia patch!
Impatiens! Basil!
Down the hatch!
I mix and sprinkle,
shake and douse;
my garden fragrance
l’eau d’outhouse.
Instead of blooms
and flowering vines,
all I see
are dollar signs.
June 18.19
When orange lights on lavender,
it lacks in subtlety,
grandiose theater
its winged proclivity.
It urgently upstages
in drama quintessential,
pageant symbiotic,
brilliant, existential.
National Pollinator Week, June 17-23
More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg,
and to the pollinators — may we bless and keep them!
Disconnections: August 10.18
When your plumbing’s contrary
your car’s in the shop
the travails of the world
are over the top
you’re always on hold
and a half-inch behind
words and your keys
keep slipping your mind
the robocalls pester
the outlook is dour,
call a time-out
and go watch a flower.
I do realize that not all life’s problems are so easily airbrushed, and not everyone has a flower to watch, and I wish it were otherwise. But the other day this happened to me. I was utterly out of patience and stormed out to the back, and there was this gorgeous, tranquil little being, totally absorbed in the zinnias. Imagine being hit so hard by calm.
Disconnections: August 7.18
If I,
adorned in silver filigree
and fine-cut lapis lazuli,
could cast
so delicate a shadow,
I too
would deign
to be admired.
