Reflections on Preparing the Patio for Winter

The winter is coming and I sweep out the dry bones of leaves and blooms, once alive and so full of expectation.  Some are half-bloomed, still daring to hope.  It was a good run—We had a good season, the pinks and reds began subtle, then bright.  They leapt to life with enthusiasm. Then, grew and stretched up, loving  the hell out of everything.

And now everything on my patio is tidy and neat.  I sit in my chair by the window with the cool breeze stirring through the windows, open now where once they closed against the summer haze.  I haven’t fully seen the beauty of it, this dying season.  I still want the pinks and reds and the greens of new growing.  I haven’t quite lost the hope that things can be more than they are, whether it be the season, or the hope that there might be, for me, another shining dream just beyond the horizon.

This is the season of intermingled youth and age and it has always left me wistful.  It is the time of year, where the two dance together while moving in opposite directions.  One looks forward and the other back, but for the moment, they move together hand in hand.

 

Irritation

It was a useless walk from

There to here

Requisite steps to strengthen weakness

Where there might have been purpose.

Yet I will smile, tight-lipped, and devise

What I should have done

For you still again

It’s strange inhabiting this

Human house.

Lullaby to A Loving Cat

I held you

In the palm of my hand

Sweet little thing

Pink-tongued vulnerable

Stumbling our way

Through the dance of life

Afraid, awkward– looking forward

Glancing back.

Our place at day’s end

Together around a book

You leaned on me

With deep-throated contentment

I held you

In the curve of my lap

Until your limbs went heavy

And the essence of you

Floated to wherever

Good spirits go

Cathedrals

Vaulting upward arching in supplication

Reaching inward in gentle longing

For life’s keenest lacks

In the gray morning no poem sang

Within me for grief or love

For all that had died or

The soul’s broken circles

Vaulting upward reaching inward

Through the rose window

Facing south to Our Lady

Healing comes in grace with grace

In silent cathedrals

Daisies

The Dream girl
Holds the petals of spring daisies
Clasped to her heart
A locket given her
By a lover of life.

And the fire of her eyes
And the embers of her heart
Ignite with the possibility
Of all she is and could future be

The absences endured as the night creeps upon her
What becomes of the fire, the silver-gold
Remembrance of things once
Wished for?

Proving an
Answer
over and over
Again.