Seasonings

When summer yawns,

a day break wedges

my thoughts between

the sun’s direct light

and its slanting

toward winter’s solstice.

As time wraps and warps

around my puny

gut feelings, a

prayer wends its

way through the

waning season

toward the bending Light,

an amen rolls

on toward equinox.

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Twelve Minutes on Color

It is the contrast in color which illuminates autumn. Looking at one tree’s vibrant blushing brightens my imagination and appreciation of God’s artwork in the midst of the work of transformation. When I pan back and take in a bigger frame of color against color a greater wonder fills me.

We live on hill, and from the back deck a valley of autumn’s attitude can be taken in. We moved here five years ago this month, and we are grateful for the view.

It makes me think of the possibility of unity in diversity. God must believe it too, with this big fat metaphor of fall. This one line of poetry, the tree line, gets me thankful, thankful for my eyes.

Outta time.

When We Take Our Leave

If a leaf fell in the forest

would you hear the sound of it?

Would it’s still small voice

turn your ear to its descending color?

 

Before the fall, they hung in piles

upon the air, green and greener veins

sipping life out of the twig tips.

They clapped their hands upon the wind.

 

Now burnished and fainting, they blush

and leap on breezes that speak

of new seasons, changes that come

when they lay themselves down.

Postcard: Dated: Present

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was no seal to be slit open.

My attention flipped over.

The scenes held in my hand.

The evening light crowned trees like a stamp.

Someone paid postage with beauty.

 

On one side color rose with the setting sun

and an angled glow skipped over

the folds in the fields.

Darkness tucked in for the night

under peaks of deeper greens and golds.

 

On the other side sparse words,

tight, lean, black ink spread apart

on white unlined space.

I am Love.

Thinking of you.

Fall: They Fell For Fall and Colored Me.

The kid in the leaf pile

The other night, the wind and rain

slapped a lot of beauty out of their canopies.

The rain fell on the leaves,

the leaves fell like rain.

The colors lay dead.

 

I tried to rally my kids to pick them up.

I gave them Elmer’s glue and a stapler.

I had a few ladders, too.

 

The sun was out and how much

I wanted to see the colors against a cool blue sky

rather than on faded green and asphalt and gravel.

 

I prayed for a resurrection

and imagined the maples bending,

gathering leaves like fallen feathers.

But then, my kids dropped the glue

and staples and the disbelief

their faces had shown me.

 

They ran for rakes.

 

With their faces flush with autumn air,

they piled up the leaves on the runway.

They carelessly overlaid color on color,

like a scribbler with crayons.

 

Their excitement rose, as did the pile.

I saw the clear blue sky in their eyes

as they lay laughing in the spectrum.

I smiled as their redemptive act

fell on me like cool rain in the night.

 

 

Photo by Dinolms