When I Die
When I die,
I want to let go
and float away
as serenely
and gracefully
as the falling
leaves in autumn,
uncomplaining
yet curious,
surrendering
to the eternal
circle of life.
All Was Still
For just a few seconds
as we stood at the
end of the dock,
it was so very quiet
that I held my breath
and did not move.
Even the dragonfly
glided by soundlessly
and the geese were
hushed. Then the silence
was broken by a car’s hum
and the tree frogs’ calls.
But there was that one
moment when all was still.
August Mornings
Mist covers the pond
like a giant’s breath
on a cool August morning,
a morning that is a gift
after hot humid days.
And then it effortlessly lifts
to allow the sun its show.
On a hot humid morning,
dragon flies dart around
plants by the lake,
blue wings flashing, and
tree frogs chatter away while
water nibbles at pond’s edge.
New sweet gum leaves
poke up from the roots of an
old tree and bees hum in
a hollow trunk; pine needles
are strewn across the path,
washed in piles by the recent rain.
White button weed hides in the
grass and I almost miss it.
I try to be present, but it’s a challenge.
A Walk in the Neighborhood
A vanilla latté, a clean
CT scan, and a walk in
the neighborhood
with Luna at my side
makes my heart soar.
The sweet scent of
honeysuckle, the sight
of lavender, the throaty
whistle of a tufted titmouse,
the piercingly sweet call
of a Carolina wren,
a deer scampering
across the road,
hydrangeas adorned with
purple and white blossoms,
magnolias in full bloom,
and the delicate flowers
of coral bells stretching
heavenward. Orange
lilies screaming for
attention, purple clematis
rising up a mailbox,
the resinous smell of a
blue spruce, and last
of all, my climbing
hydrangea snaking its
way across the pergola
on the deck, blooming
like never before.
Dead Nettle
In the field by
the lake minuscule
purple blossoms
peek out among
tiny, stacked,
heart-shaped leaves,
all on one stalk.
Before today, I
saw only the
blossoms, but
this morning I
stopped, bent
down, and was
amazed. They
say you are a
weed, but edible
and medicinal.
To me, you
are a miracle.
On a Bench by the Lake
In a wide-brimmed hat
and yellow jacket,
head down, hands on
lap, she sat on the bench
by the lake surrounded
by trees just beginning
to show their colors.
Was she meditating,
was she praying or
was she just being?
We’ll never know.
Luna and I walk behind
her, not wanting to
disturb her moment
of peace and solitude.
Photo created by AI!
Hope and Healing
Remembering how Olivia
planted crocuses around
a tree before an illness
in an old Walton’s episode,
I too planted them, needing
something to look forward
to. It was a warm October
morning a few weeks before
surgery when I knew the
unwelcome visitor in my lung
had to come out and the
road to recovery would be
long. Now here you are
pushing up your green shoots
and opening your blooms.
I am still here and both
of us have made it through
the dark days of winter
and are turning our heads
toward the healing sun.
Image by 🌼Christel🌼 from Pixabay
The Wooden Blocks
After a cleanout frenzy today,
we gave away the wooden blocks,
the ones kept in the big wicker
basket on the coat closet floor,
the ones all three of you used
to build bridges and houses and
roads, the ones that little boy
with the chubby fingers ran
his matchbox cars over, the ones
his sisters used to build towers
and let him knock them down,
setting off infectious laughter.
It was bittersweet to give them
away, but none of you wanted them.
I would like to think some lucky child
will be thrilled when his mother snaps
them up at the Goodwill on Broad.
That child will not see the fingerprints
of our children, grandchildren, great
nieces and nephews or mine,
but they are all there and hold
so many memories of those
precious times when you were
all so young and full of joy.
Photo by Valery Fedotov on Unsplash
Glimpses
As I drove along on
this cold, grey morning,
a flash of red caught
my eye, then three more,
as four cardinals flew from
the middle of the road and
disappeared into the white woods.
Later this morning through
the window during yoga I gazed
at a big tree that has captured
my heart, its snow-kissed branches
stretching protectively over the
courtyard of an old stone church,
filling the space with its gracefulness.
Powhatan State Park
Rustling of dry
leaves underfoot,
sun slanting
through pines,
clickety clack
of a train
far, far away,
Luna sniffing
here and there,
horse droppings
on the side,
pine needles
cushioning feet,
shell-shaped fungi
on downed trees.
Listen and look.
It’s all there
waiting for you.
untangling the web 