Late summer’s plumes, crabapple bangles,
frothy wedgwood sky —
the layer cakes of seasons
delectably pass by.
Yes, yes, everything reminds me of dessert.
But you knew that.
Poetry makes me hungry.
Tag Archives: crabapple tree
April 22.21: Coping
The hydrangea and the crabapple tree
awoke in frozen state.
“Remind me,” said each to the other,
“what is the real date?”
They shivered and shrugged
and tried to remember
if they slept through the summer
and woke up in December.
Thus, below freezing, did yesterday begin. And thus did we shiver through the day. Blossoms on the trees held a hundred times their weight in heavy snow, and thus did pink and white branches lie broken on the ground. We had hail, snow, rain, bright sunshine, perfect calm, roaring winds and thunder in dizzying display, and thus did Nature growl at us to take nothing for granted.
Wishing you a good Earth Day, dear reader!
April 22.20 Earth Day: Coping
In révérence
obeisant brow
salute to Earth
in graceful bough.
A somber Earth Day, dear reader,
but may there be buds for you.
Disconnections: November 20.18
When winter comes
even the drips stop
to heed
the inward time
iced
blackened by early night
when kitchen lights glow gold
and we face ourselves
reflected in dark windows.
Disconnections: September 27.18
A window with a view
coveted prize
a break in routine
rest for our eyes
a tree with some posies
quiets day’s din
but sometimes can startle
by looking back in.
We’ve looked back and forth
Crabapple and I
exchanging world views
in the year that’s gone by.
It’s given the kitchen
a leafy embrace
and made my new house
a cozier place.
Lichened old faithful
steadfast and seasoned
shading me from
a world all unreasoned.
There’ve been times in my life
I’ve known a kind tree
that seemed like kin
and companion to me.
Perhaps you, dear reader,
understand what I mean
and also have had
a friend that is green.
When I moved in here, almost a year ago, I knew that two trees would have to come down. This crabapple is one of them. Now the arrangements are made, and I can’t help the sadness. It’s been so pretty, wrapping around my little bay window. This place is still not home to me, and the crabapple has seemed to know that. I will miss it.
Connections: April 21.17
Connections: March 14.17
Connections: February 10.17
Connections: January 18.17
The little old lady who lives here (me)
wanted photos of ice on the tree
but she knew she’d look daft
in such wintry draft
so she tried to work unobtrusively.
In the front yard in the sleet
right by the street
she bobbed alow and aloft
but her attempt to be invisible
turned out to be risible
when the stupid flash went off.
Oddments 