gray light soft soothing
smell of rain floats close to me
sound of trees drinking
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Our senses welcome rain breaking a drought. It has been a very dry summer.
Author Archives: Life With Horace
mountain mantle
cloud blanket from the mountain top
reaches all the way down to me
gentle gray in ebbing light
enwraps the shoulders of my soul
the night and what awaits
are gone and I am hid
a shiver in response
at best cloud rain is gentle
settling on the skin
its spider weight unfelt until too late
deed done a feather light ganache of truth
glistens over every inch
just as tight shut childish eyes
imagine invisibility
this passage through no more than respite
as I emerge so does the world
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driving home last night after a day’s most welcome rain, at the last steep open hill, most of the mountain was hidden by clouds and mist, reaching low, a thrilling sight.
Woods whispers
Once home directly to the woods,
downhill into the shadowed green,
ecstatic dogs all tails and lopes.
They move from spot to spot
data-mining smells and sounds
then leave their marks.
Feet silent on the needle drop
my harmony mostly restored
ankles softly kissed by ferns.
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a shortling to celebrate the gift of having woods to lift the day off my shoulders.
passing through town to home
the day has changed from bright
to scrims of clouds washed sky blue pink
backdrop to summer quiet playing fields
further south a sidelong glance
at underbelly clouds thick swathed peach red
flying over marshes at the river curve
in town the day is winding down
cars and people move intent on fuel
and food and rest for it’s been hot
and by the time the single light releases me
to turn due west deep pink to purple blasts
are shouting over pines and spires
I steal a look into our cafe’s glow
observe last patient walks for dogs
church supper signs and flags
the colors quickly leach away
though day’s end light remains enough
to cover hilly rattle roads
then rollercoasting mountain arms
a final sling to home beside the pond
in time to greet a rising moon
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even though going through town takes longer, I love to observe and watch along the way. the other night the stages of what proved to be a spectacular sunset were a marvelous backdrop to my small country town in the middle of summer.
A haiku for midsummer heat with notes
heat blankets the skin
my bones lay it down against
the thought of winter
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the extremes of summer and winter call to each other; one recent february was so unremittingly cold that I vowed to remember it come summer, and not complain!
moonstones
countless shed
in rage and grief
for loss of life
and love’s escape
but know my friends
that tears
rejoin the earth
to fall again
as rain
and with these
moonstone drops
comes life renewed
a moment’s chance
to heal and wash
the stench of hate
into the sea
and pray
the only swords
we need are
gentle arcs
of green
sun turtle lines
of remnant tears
safe havens
for our memories
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a poem for a day that always brings the echoes of a loving grief. I send these words to join those voices raised to shout aloud their sadness in the face of tragedy.
A haiku for true freedom
we are only free
shed of anger hate and fear
bare but for love
gift of sudden light
morning brings the flowering world
to wait outside my door again
its gift complete
an honest bounty within reach
I glance away, and in
that moment sun arms
leap above the mountain ridge
to cast breath stealing light
and startle me to unexpected joy
when happiness, no simple thing
arriving first was present
and most certainly enough
light’s twin is thought
conjoined with time
its tipping point
arrived at step by step
the pilgrim mind walks on
until the heart is open
and able to receive
the sudden glimpse of truth
Haiku for a friend with notes
see each forward step
my own not for another
true gift of friendship
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The way forward for a friend sometimes seems clear to me, but not for them. The hard thing is to step back, find the wisdom to make changes in my own life, and let them work it out. They already know that I care.
Haiku for tuesday with notes
accepting the muse
black head warms my foot again
reaching for note book
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Horace likes to sit under the kitchen table when I write, with his head across my foot. I had planned to write later in the day today, but clearly my muse thought otherwise.
The green veil
A scrim of green masks the woods
and blankets its recycling brown
and fading winter tale
with upstart life rolled out
to mountain slopes
I know are there
Another green veil lives
across timegone paths
that memories illuminate
backlighting those
just out of reach
until we call them close
A flash of thought
to pierce opaque divides
and fill the mind’s eye,
arms to hold them
quiet and at peace
sweet moderation’s gift
remembering
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A poem for 5/8, mother’s day. The photo was actually taken much later in summer, when I was shooting the morning mist that comes off my garage roof after the sun comes over the mountain arm, and a series of remarkable night-built spider’s webs in the trees (one is faintly visible on the right).
countdown
there is movement
in the daily flow of green
to full on spring
as bud fists loosen grips
or fern nubs thrust up clumpy heads
and hillsides morph to verdigris
reminding me of childhood nights
spent time-stretched
jumping tick to tock
wrapped in wild impatient
longing for the morning
and its gifts to come
in truth the journey
through that wait
or days lived blossomless
are weighted to the same degree
because this moment’s beauty is
the only certainty we have
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a shortling for 5/5. spring has been excruciatingly slow this year for us. yet even as we creep along, just knowing the apple tree will blossom, or the lilacs bloom, is such a gift.
Life With Horace 