In bright foreshadow
does autumn sun
frost the amethyst;
then does the butterfly know
to kiss it goodbye.
With thanks to photographer Mary Jo Bassett.
Tag Archives: butterfly
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?
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.
Connections: August 26.17
Dill feathers
butterfly tickles
dill seeds
crock of pickles
dill bones
pinwheel spindled
tale of life
ripening, dwindled.
Connections: August 24.17
Late garden
golden day
velvet-winged
tour jeté
airy footed
graced ballet
August-gilded
matinée.
Connections: April 22.17
One summer day
when the air was rich
and the garden a festival
of stained glass
something weightless
tentative
touched a zinnia
then on parchment wings
lifted away
and
mid-air
bowed its thanks
beholden
like me
to the earth.
I wish you, dear reader, a hopeful Earth Day.
Connections: September 8.16
Connections: August 6
Just when I think
the yellow and pink
are all that the eye can take in
a butterfly skims
like daydreams and whims
to flaunt how I was mistaken.
Connections: July 13
Yesterday was sticky hot
the air was thick as mush
but I had to grab my camera
and get out there in a rush.
This visitor, this summer sprite,
this unabashed flirt,
demanded my
attentive eye
and mud upon my skirt.
But would he alight, becalm his wings?
Sit still for just a
mo?
No!
He just kept whirring
blurring
flitting to and fro.
I chased that Casanova
’round marigold and bee
and wondered if my neighbors
had a butterfly net for me.
