no halloween
burning pine-straw, bouquet —
patricia comes to mind
my thoughts of autumn, though it be spring, are filled with an ebbing tide; a time when fallen pine needles makes a bed for the white hair of age, the laughter of children. the gathering of pine-straw, soon to be a wisp of smoke; such heady stuff. strange this looking back, while the fragrance of honeysuckles yet fill the air …
bagging the leaves
remembering the fragrance
of smoky autumns
drizzle
a line of sparrows
on the wire
still birds grace high wire
memories fifty years past
grandmother’s clothesline
rustle of weeds-
a new generation clings
to fresh laundry
no halloween
burning pine-straw, bouquet —
patricia comes to mind
my thoughts of autumn, though it be spring, are filled with an ebbing tide; a time when fallen pine needles makes a bed for the white hair of age, the laughter of children. the gathering of pine-straw, soon to be a wisp of smoke; such heady stuff. strange this looking back, while the fragrance of honeysuckles yet fill the air …
soft faded tee-shirt
first warm April afternoon
smell of turtle-wax
hummingbird’s wings–
even mother this wintry morning
hums