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On a November Evening
The brilliance of November at dusk! Hilltops lit up like a box of flaming matchsticks, burning brightly beneath rose-gold and lavender clouds. I hope my dying is like a November evening, wrapped in a cozy, fiery glow, celebrating in quiet exaltation the apex of life. As my season of frozen, silent stillness approaches (for death…
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Sitting Among the Falling Leaves
The trees did sway In the breeze this way And that. And the leaves Did drop to the ground, Fall all around where I sat– The green and the brown, The red, orange and gold, They plummeted down– Like birds, so bold!– One landed on top of my hat.
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The Delight of the Bumblebees
One evening while wandering I came upon dozens of insouciant bumblebees recumbent in their Elysium, each holding to a pink-and-white flower, drunkenly sipping the dregs of its nectar, heedless of passersby. Each stem supported one bee and it was as if they dined there, each solitary despite their companions, so lost in their own ecstasy…
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Barefoot
When your toes hang out the holes in your Kmart canvas shoes it’s much nicer to run barefoot down the gravel driveway squish mud puddles (avoid the tadpoles) between your toes and race through fresh-cut grass sink your feet in the soft cool dirt under the elderly maple– and learn where not to run, too–…
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The Appalachian House
What a marvel the way industrious Appalachians have long managed to plop their homes on the side of any available hill, propped up and held stationary by wood beams, cement and magic– Generation after generation the houses stand, bold against gully-washers and blizzards, defying nature and common sense. Through bare winter trees you see them–…
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