Pond pixels at dawn
play at reflecting
rippling jigsaw
its own dawn confecting.
Category Archives: morning
Disconnections: August 25.18
When morning sparkles
nothing is finer
than breakfast al fresco
at the pondside diner.
Disconnections: July 24.18
Some of us know it
from school days gone by
the rarified glow
of a holycard sky.
Angels and saints
no laggards allowed
canopied ever
by holycard cloud
its edges alive
with a peachy-gold hue
it had to be thus —
plain white wouldn’t do.
It all seemed marshmallowy
pretend, and ideal,
but I see it right now
undeniably real.
A word about holycards: they were tokens of acknowledgement given out in Catholic schools ever so long ago. They all depicted role models. Kind of like baseball cards but more flowy. And with lilies. In that time a coveted laurel.
Disconnections: June 8.18
Platinum gild
on buttermilk sky
no wonder Icarus
flew too high.
Connections: March 29.18
I wish I could send you, dear reader, a bit of this morning. We are due for yet another day of rain (have mercy!), but right now the rain is merely a hint, heavy in the air. It is barely day, but there is enough light to make the budding trees crisp against a bland sky. They aren’t moving. The pond is steady glass. The air is early-spring warm and utterly still, as though afraid if it breathed it would cease to be.
I can hear a mourning dove and some kind of chirpy thing, both chanting their Lauds, each in its own way. I can also hear the rainwater draining into the pond, a gurgling antiphonal to the birdsong. There is an occasional car which sounds far away. Mostly I am swathed in quiet. I feel like an intruder, but I stay, also trying not to breathe.
Have you ever wanted to put a moment in your pocket so you could pull it out again when you need it?
Connections: March 21.18
The snow bedecks the deck
the swing and windowsill
and expletives explode
from every daffodil.
Connections: February 18.18
Of the dawn I asked
Do you burn with frost or fire?
Is this the scald
of ice or ire?
Are you flushed with fever
reflected pain
or with northern lights
of frigid disdain?
