Summer Sweet

Mist clings to the clover

And rolls as breath among the gardens.

On sultry summer mornings,

The air is perfumed with the essence of savory herbs and

Delights the senses of the trees.

Heavy air holds the flavor of flowers and

Slips in silence over webs woven between blades of grass in midnight’s darkness.

Hay fields stir, awakened by the morning’s sun warmed breezes and

Another summer day begins.


August, a month of

Heavy air, morning mists and summer’s last hurrah.

Its sultry nights are drenched in humid air and thunder

With light shows between the clouds at midnight and

Rain hissing in the dark on the forest green.

Late summer dawns are still and thick and hang over

Flowers spent and gardens full.

In late August the earth speaks to me in fruits and vegetables,

Hay fields and corn rows, empty fields and full root cellars,

Reminding me that Summer’s end is near.

Silver Smoke

Bright blue sky holds the

Silver gray smoke from the chimney.


Golden leaves fall in

Showers from the trees and


Dry brown leaves dance with each other in circles

On faded green grass.


I sit here alone, watching, smelling, seeing and smiling.

A gray squirrel chatters at me from the edge of the forest, what is he saying?


The day is getting late and my house now sits in the shadows.

With the sun in my face, I can barely make it out.


It’s as if it has blended back into the woods

From which it was made.


All that remains is the red chimney, the silver smoke

And the chatterind squirrel.


My place in all of this is erased, and unneeded, it will all carry on without me.

The petunias continue to climb over the iron rooster’s back in defiance of my will,


Or what they perceive to be my will.


I think I’ll go inside now and make more silver smoke.



Pumpkins roasting in the oven,

Canning jars full of summer bounty drying on the counter.

Carrots and beets are waiting in the cottage garden, waiting to be pulled and washed,

Blanched and put to rest in the freezer.

Summer’s tender fruits have come and gone.

Only the hardy and hardest of all remain.

The winter squash takes the place of its summer

Thin skinned cousins.

Hard beets, potatoes, and turnips

Wait to be dug and stored in the cellar.

Apples shine on the trees, enticing us to climb and gather.

Their red faces sparkle in the sun, begging to be picked and boxed.

So yet again, we preserve the jewels of summer to be cherished in the dead of winter,

They remind us of the taste of summer, when gardens are asleep and dreaming.

Nature’s balance (re-post from 2015)

Purple thunder, speaking sky.

The sound sneaks in to doubting ears.

But soon, unable to be ignored, it rolls in

Splitting the sky,

Singing to my heart

And watering the earth.

As the storm approaches, the lights go out.

The air is still and filled with anticipation.

Birds become silent and

Trees grow heavy.

The rain follows the clouds

And the wind rocks the trees to the sound of the sky.

Heavy air crushes the field and

Rain pummels the garden.

Plants, grass and trees shake in the torrent and rivers run along

The roadside washing away the day’s dust.

The very earth trembles with the power of the storm

As lightening spells its name in the sky.

The black clouds race across the heavens and

Carry the storm on their backs.

But all too soon for me, the western horizon brightens, the

Energy is spent, the storm subdued.

Sunrays break through the darkness and

The earth sparkles and shines in its fresh – washed brilliance.

The storm has run its course,

Released its tension and fulfilled its purpose.

The birds resume their song, the brook runs full,

The garden is watered and the earth refreshed.

The thunder returns to silence and

Nature’s balance is restored.



Frozen in Faith

Garden statues in the dark are

Emotions frozen in time.

They are profiles of love in stone

Whose souls touch in the night while

Shadows hide their truth.

Earth turns the statues away from the night and towards the sun,

Always chasing its light and warmth

In an endless journey from light to dark

And back again while 

Heart statues stand, emotions frozen in time as

Profiles of love frozen in faith.

A Valuable Part of Two

The heat of a summer day softens and slips silently

Into evening twilight.

The shifting shadows and cooling breezes of evening chill my being and

Bring an acute awareness of sorrow and emptiness to my state of mind.

This subtle, soft twilight is lonely and empty now

But was beautiful at other times and under other circumstances in my life.

Twilight holds tenderness and acceptance of love in times of loving but

When love is missing or withheld, twilight is punishing in its loneliness.

A solitary stroll through the garden is a waste;

There is no joy in relaxing in the rocking hammock alone. 

Light sadly leaves the landscape and drains the world of color

Just as this lost love drains my soul and heart of color.

The trees along the edge of the clearing blend into a fortress wall,

Locking me out in my loneliness.

Fireflies blink on and off but evade my eyes behind the fortress of trees

and the stark cold moon light accentuates  my solitude by throwing only one shadow behind me.

In better times, when I was not alone, the deepiening twilight was a magical time,

Full of love and acceptance.

 We walked the garden paths together, basking in the glow of the moon

 And soaking in the softness of star-shine.

Our shadows moved willingly behind us, hand in hand,

And fireflies lit our way home.

I want to go back to that time, back to being a valuable part of two,

Back to the times of softened days that faded into loving nights of passion and acceptance.

I need you take me back there, please…

After The Rain

The joy of a muddy puddle after a rain and

Spider webs stretched out on the grass waiting to dry.


Rain makes tree trunks darker on west facing sides with

Moss growing toward the north.


Forest fallen leaves flattened by winter’s snows awaken after the spring rain and

Crisp morning air envelopes the crystal blue sky of a new cloudless day.


Dawn brings a new world each and every morning, while

Night’s darkness hides the transformation from yesterday to today.


The world of this moment is a different world from yesterday’s,

From an hour ago, from a moment ago.


It all is in flux, all impermanent but dependable in its trustworthy impermanence and

Therein lays the joy of a muddy puddle after the rain.


A Part of His Plan


It is warm here now.

Just yesterday I could still feel the cold.


It retreated upward,

The sun melting the frost.


Mother Earth sending her warmth

To meet the sun’s, with me in the middle!


I hear the rain striking

The earth above me now,


Its sound no longer muffled

By the snow.


The water puddles around me in the spaces between the rocks and

Softens my shell with its spring freshness.


My soul is awakened and has been waiting for this moment,

Waiting for the conditions to be just right.


My softened shall cracks and

A single, tiny root pokes its little head out into the soil.


It stretches its very being into the darkness and

Finds water and nutrients to power my growth.


Slowly my stem emerges from this shell and pushes me ever so gently up and up

Around the rocks and worms,


Bending to avoid the obstacle’s, always holding me in love

While searching for the sun.


I have never seen the sun, but I know it is there.

It has spoken to me in my dark winter of dreams.


Its promise is finely fulfilled when, only by  gargantuan efforts, my

Tiny stem has transported me to the surface of the soil.


My head breaks free and I feel the fresh spring breeze for the first time as

My stem lifts me up as an offering to the sun.


Through my soil bound journey, a miracle has taken place within me.

The work of God, done in darkness, is now revealed.


My seed splits open and my two magically made seed leaves open

Their fresh green faces to the sun.


Its brilliance is over whelming and

Its warmth and love unsurpassed.


I feel its strength soaking into even fiber of my being.

The sensation is incredible and I am full of life.


But the end of my journey is still a mystery to me.

What will I become?  Only God knows …


He has built the blueprint into my soul

But he hasn’t given me the instructions.


I will grow in the awareness that I am aware.

My being will take in the sun and wind, the soil and water, and I will become that which God intended.


Whether his intentions be a sunflower or a string bean,

I will be happy and joyful at being a part of His plan and


I will rejoice in His goodness.

Hari Om