Pausing in the woods
to ruminate about
what aromas to sniff
next in this Thanksgiving
bounty whose scents
are hidden in the leaves
and provided by Mother
Nature’s other creatures.
A Dog’s Delight
Tag Archives: dogs
The Perfect Day
The crunch of leaves,
the face in the tree trunk,
(Zachary Hand to God?)
the whine of cars on Route 6,
the hum of a plane overhead,
the blazing maple framed
by a vibrant, clear, blue sky,
the bare tree limbs stretching,
the purple beautyberry
against a woody stem, and
the dog and the pond
all create a perfect day.
Reflections
Sunlight shimmers
on a tranquil pond
that mirrors
changing leaves
while a dog gazes
on the splendor.
North Carolina Museum of Art
Husband in front,
daughter in middle,
I behind as we walk.
Two dogs stopping
to sniff here and there.
Pines and fir trees
keep watch, lining
the path like sentinels.
Outside noise softened
by pine needles
on the ground.
Pollen everywhere.
A cherry tree
gently drops its
petals like snow
drifting down.
Redbuds and dogwoods
in their Easter finery,
purple clover popping
in the green grass.
Swings that make
music as we pump,
taking us back
to the forgotten
joys of childhood.
Sacred Moment
Sometimes we startle the
heron as she stands at the
end of the pond, and she
spreads her mighty wings
and flies away, afraid of
our company. Today I was
not present, not seeing,
but worrying about so
many things. And then,
from a hill above the
water, I saw her framed
between two bare trees,
tall, regal, motionless.
With no camera to record
the perfect photo, I was
disappointed …. but then
again, perhaps that one
sacred moment was only for
the heron, my dog, and me.
.
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.
Home After Surgery
The feel of my own sheets.
Soft pillows without
a rubbery covering.
Luna curled beside me.
Blessed quiet with no
beeping machines, no
wakeups at 3 a.m. for
chest x-rays, or a roommate
with the TV blaring.
No tangle of tubes and
no more poking and prodding.
A daughter who took over
communication with family
and friends. A son who experienced
the trauma of post-surgery complications
without alarming me. The Betty Brigade
bringing delicious food each day.
A husband who changed
the sheets. Sleep, blessed sleep!
Daughters and granddaughter
changing my bandages with
calmness and professionalism.
Quiet visits from my circle of women.
And the list continues to grow.
Oh, do we ever take for
granted the small blessings
of this life. I thought I was
aware of them but this
“unwelcome visitor” has
seared their importance
into my very being and
I am thankful for that.
(But not for the “unwelcome visitor!”)
Emerald Isle
Enveloping darkness,
and then slowly behind
a bank of clouds a
half circle of light
peeks out and grows
into a full sphere,
signaling another
blue-sky day.
Barely a soul in sight,
walking toward the
rising sun, we make
the first prints in the
sand. On our left
seagrass swaying, on
our right crashing
waves and seagulls.
This is creation.
Keepers
Note: At a recent meeting of my 70+ (now 80+!) group of women, our assignment was to share “keepers,” in other words moments in our lives, past or present, that brought us joy. Mine are in this poem.
There was the time recently
When Luna and I were on
A visit to the County Jail
And she remembered a
Young man from another
Visit and curled up
Against him, and when he
Moved on to another dog
She went over and licked
His ear as if to say, come
Back to me, we have a
Special bond. And he grinned.
And on that same visit I
Can see the tattooed
Young man rolling on
The floor with a blind
Dog who knew him
By his smell and brought
To him moments of
Pure joy and a memory
Of the outside world.
And then there were
Those hours on a
Sunday afternoon when
We celebrated poetry
And women’s friendships,
A gift from my family
That will never be
Forgotten as I see
Each face and hear
Each voice and immerse
Myself in the memory
Of a perfect gift.
Paying Attention
On a cold morning
with thoughts scampering
in and through, words formed
and then forgotten,
Luna and I walked
and mused, then stopped and
paid attention. We
saw poetry on a
twig, in frost-covered
grass, and flashing off
a mallard’s green head.
We heard it in the
bird song, and sniffed it
in the sharp, clean air.
untangling the web 