Gravity

Do you ever
Wish
You could
Spin round
And around
So fast in every
Direction
Simultaneously
Experiencing
The full sense of
Earth’s shape
As it meets
The atmosphere-
Without getting dizzy, of course
Or passing out-

For one single
Simple second
I sensed the
Enormity
Of it all
Then just as
Quickly
The feeling
Disappeared
Leaving me with
A silly smile over
Having time to
Do the dishes

Brushstrokes

Skillfully painted
Across the sky
Filling time
And space
One after another
Some clearly
Defined
Like the bright
Blue of a happy
Childhood day
Others, fuzzy
Around the edges
Like the moody purple
Of teenage angst
With every color
And shade
In between
Defined or blurred
Each opens a door
To recollections
Of the past
Or dreams
For the future
Joy and sorrow
Love and loss
Life and death
Each painting
Their own part
In the big picture

Simply Sunday

Grief

A black cloud
Moved across
The gray
Morning sky
Circling, swirling
Changing shape
Separating
Coming back
Together
Its fluctuations
Matching
My grief-
Moving closer
I could see
It was not
A cloud
But a flock
Of birds-
They landed
On the branches
Of barren trees
Perched up high
Unwavering
Their feathers
A brief replacement
For recently
Fallen leaves
Their stillness
Giving my heart
A moment to rest
Catch my breath
Though tears
Continued to flow

My sweet dad passed away early this morning. My heart is broken. I am forever grateful that he was my dad. He had a gentle strength about him. There is so much I want to remember and reflect over. But for now, this is all I can share.

Framing the Day

Looking out
Through
The glass
That frames
My morning drive
A great expanse
Of rolling
White clouds
Dotted
With patches
Of blue
Unfolds in
Front of me
An audible breath
As sunlight graces
My periphery
Providing
Welcomed
Warmth
Blended with
The morning breeze
An indication of what’s to come
Perhaps
A singular moment of awe and peace
Absolutely

Winter Visit

Snowflakes
Circling
Round and round
Falling toward
Frozen grass
Too cold out
For human hands
Tiny birds
Swooping
Up and down
Trees to feeder
Feeder to ground
Feathers puffed
White bellies shining
In contrast with
Gray skies
Gray bark
All but one…
Its red feathers
Radiant against
The wintry scene
Its red crest
Held high thru
The winter storm

The temperature in my little corner of Oklahoma today is a whopping 5 degrees. The windchill is -16. Winds are howling, and snow is blowing. But the birds still flit in the backyard. Our feeders are full, thanks to my sweetie. 💙❄️🌬

Simply Sunday

Ready to Fly

Beautifully bare
Impressions
From life’s
Encounters
Left behind as
History lessons
For anyone
Willing to give
A little time-
See the hawk
Proudly perched
On a branch
Looking back
One more time
At the empty nest
That not long ago
Held its young
Once again
Ready to fly
The past
Held close
To her heart
A catalyst
For change
A sanctuary
For reminiscing

Illumination

Far away stars
Shine bright
Against the
Night sky
Rays of sunlight
Suddenly pierce
Gray clouds
After a storm
Tiny lights
Gently twinkle
Among the
Evergreen branches-
Light speaks all languages
Providing
Glimmers of hope
Bursts of joy
Moments of Mercy
Only a little
Is required
To illuminate
The Darkness

Simply Sunday

Colors of Fall
Were slow
To appear
On certain trees
Dry conditions
Threatened
To hinder
The beauty
Of the season
But the leaves
Clung tightly
Waiting for
Rain to come
It was a cold rain
That fashioned
These delayed
Bursts of color
Just as others were
Beginning to wane
Yet even the faded
Appeared vibrant
Standing beside
The evergreens
Against the gray
And white backdrop
Painted on recent skies-
Everything in its time
Not competing
But complementing
In my not yet
Ready for Winter
Surroundings

Passerby

The deer had been
Absent from
Their usual field
Concerning
Colder weather
Blustery winds
They couldn’t
Have gone far
Wait! What was that?
There they are
Walking a path
Through the brush
To nearby water
I suppose it was there all along

A hidden path
Grass pressed down
Between the rows
Where others walked
In seasons past
Imprints remain
Though kept
Out of view
Until a concerned
Passerby needed
Reassurance
She was headed
The right direction

Collage

What makes a year?
Logic says
Seconds, minutes, hours
Days, weeks, months
Equally spaced
To help us keep track-
Of what, I’m not sure
Oh, there’s no denying
The answer when
My birth year
Is subtracted
From the current year
But the larger
That number grows
The less it represents
Anything equally spaced
What makes a year?
My heart says
The love of others
The beauty of nature
Grief, heartache, and loss
Faith, hope, and love
None of which
Fit into any calendar
All of which
Even the torn edges
Can be transformed
Into a much-cherished
Collage of memories