The winds of July will find me,
For we have places to be.
She rustles leaves outside my window
‘Til I wake to the morning glow.
She calls for me to follow,
For we have places to go.
She brings with her the smell of rain,
And flowers sweet, and breath of life.
She tags along with thunderstorms,
Rides along their anvil tops.
She wraps herself around me,
“Hurry!” she calls, “Before it stops!”
She sways the growing sunflower
And fans the cottonwoods, tall and green.
Puffs skyward the dandelion seed
And waves the blackberry, bended low.
Then snows a storm of cottonwood down
Tossed gaily to and fro.
Whilst bumblebee and butterfly
Do not prefer to share the sky
There’s little we can do or say
When the summer wind flies our way.
She beckons me to join them, too,
For we have so much to do.
There are windsocks and weathervanes,
Sails of ships that she must fill.
She casts about the smell of campfires,
The plaintive call of the Whip-poor-will.
There are kites at beaches to be held aloft,
Summer rain to usher in, gentle and soft.
Into the mild evening she accompanies me
For we have so much yet to hear and see.
Nighttime clouds that pass the moon.
At the lake she carries the sound of the loon.
Not far from home, a pungent smell
Of the skunk who loves the wind as well.
As quiet night sinks dark and deep
The rustling leaves call me to sleep.
On silent wings she carries the owl
And brings to me the coyote howl.
Outside my window she tells again,
Of all the places we have been.
Why Can’t People
Why can’t people just be people,
And leave each other alone?
Then every child would have a home
In the sunshine.
Why can’t all my brothers and sisters
Reach out a helping hand?
Why can’t they try to understand
‘Cause we’re running out of time.
(People, we are running out of time.)
Why can’t people just be good neighbors,
Learn how to get along?
We gotta teach a newborn bird to fly.
All by itself, we gotta teach it how to fly.
If we could only realize
We’re all just God’s children anyway,
Maybe he won’t seem so far away.
Rest in peace, Charles Edward Daniels, 1936-2020
He leaves wife Hazel, and son Charlie Daniels, Jr.
Heaven’s chorus now enjoys another voice.
“‘Cause we are running out of time.”
Wild Tiger Lilies
It seems as though we’ve just watched
The last of the snow fade.
Now we cut the growing grass
Blade by blade.
We keep watch for hummingbirds
And the peony’s blooms.
We can open our windows (at least in the day),
In our sunny summer rooms.
Summer Solstice brings promise,
Today the day is long.
We turn to see the rose’s bloom…
And June is gone.
Doone The Cat
Just keep feeding the cat.
Sometimes our lives feel like whirlwinds.
Sometimes we question our very existence.
It can be mind-boggling.
Meanwhile, we must keep feeding the cat.
It is a Known Good.
Duty and regimen.
All things must pass.
Some days it’s all we have.
Until things settle.
Until we sort things out.
Until things become clearer.
In the meantime, keep feeding the cat.
A Known Good for the cat, too.
Fate has woven within it
an intrinsic twist.
Mortals may never know
what lies around the curve.
Joy In Motion
continue to echo,
to circle back,
time and again.
multiplexing on a vector
with the present season.
Like practicing a song
you know by rote,
until you know it
Noni among the flowers
Such newfound joy I behold each year
When April’s song bends my ear.
The robins’ whistle by the fence,
The gobble of the turkey thence.
The warblers chatter, the swallows dart
In living, breathing, springing art.
From Earth rises all manner of things,
As if for the deaf April also sings.
First crocuses, Colt’s Foot and shad will bloom,
Then tulips and daffodils vie for room.
Trees, still leafless, seem eager and greener,
As if taking cues from the grass’s demeanor.
The sky looks bluer, the clouds fly higher,
The sun warms our face like the past winter’s fire.
The wind brings with it no freezing strife,
But the essence of growth, the breath of life.
As each day grows longer ‘tween end and start,
So, too, warms and grows hope in the heart.
19 is a big number this year.
19 is on our lips.
The likes of which unseen for the last century.
Yes, the Equinox on the 19th of March.
The earliest in 123 years.
Spring rolls in. Robins and grackles and the tops of tulips.
Nature doesn’t give a fig about the number 19.
Whatever it represents.