In the morning the sky will be clear. Soon clouds will form. Through the afternoon a storm will rage, dark and tempestuous. Occasional, ironic patches of blue sky may appear. Finally, sunset will be brilliant, a gathering calm before the Green Ray.
After nightfall, you will see Forever.
Image by Tom Barrett via Unsplash.com
syllables of small
poems occupy large portions of
my befuddled brain
writing process, what
is my writing process? do
I even have one?
a mental blender
is what I need to create
my word salad
Image by Harrison Fulop
still
in October
crickets
by Harrison Fulop
Image by Vladimir Agafonkin via Unsplash.com
smoke and ash stirred
by rough winds, the pounding rain
quenches summer fires
summer steals away
in the soft stillness of night
and in it’s place, Fall
in the fallen leaves
gold of a vanished sun
summer’s gift to autumn
Image by Robin Anderson
There is another sun embodied in this smoke,
an ancient sun, prehistoric, primeval,
locked away for eons by a kindly force
now set loose by a heedless hand.
Fire liberates the exhalations and ash
of dinosaurs, saber tooth tigers,
Jeanne d’Arc.
We choke on the past.
Image by Marcus Rahm via Unsplash.com
In the West flows a mighty river. Down mountains, over rocks and boulders, through trees it runs. Strong and unabated it slides toward civilization. No dam or levee can hold back the fierce flood. But it neither splashes nor sparkles in the sun. It’s pools and eddies are dark. It reflects nothing and chokes all beings it overtakes. Dry and noisome, it is a river of smoke.
The West is on fire.
Image by Jeremy Thomas via Unsplash.com
in an old portrait
she stands poised, oddly ready.
does she smell mouse blood?
the perfect dress hugs
her nubile form, alas no
hat to hide her ears.
hungry but calm she
awaits the arrival
of her hapless mate
Soft edges, dim light, quiet.
We awake to a foggy morning. Much discussion at breakfast; will it burn off? Should we drive inland for a better chance of seeing the sun? We decide to stay put.
As the morning progresses, the bright disk eats away our gray blanket and patches of blue appear. We are hopeful now. But when the moon begins to digest the sun, the temperature drops and the fog re-forms.
On the dune, it is even foggier but we hope to see the eclipse shadow racing across the ocean’s surface. This is the only place to do that now. I set a timer for Totality and speak with my fellow shadow seekers. We spend as much time looking seaward as we do staring at Earth’s waning star. The timer tone, crickets, sounds. A last turn to the west as a cooler breeze brings oscillating shadow bands and the soft charcoal mist of a 230,000 mile deep darkness.
Cheers erupt. Eclipse glasses are flung aside. Bare eyed we gape at coronal glory. Not the stark white blue light against a night sky that we expected. No stars appear, the fog obscures them, but in exchange gives us another gift. Refraction. Pink, blue, green and red filaments twitch and dance around the moon’s dark face. She is a Medusa satellite and for a moment we all turn to breathless stone.
At last, the fog kisses us and we awaken, perhaps with tears on our cheeks. More cheering accompanies the scramble to retrieve glasses. Then wild applause as the sun emerges, vanquishing the troublesome moon, burning away the fog and setting our seaside world aright.
Image by Paul Rysz via Unsplash
Too many people, too little light.
Image via flikr/commons
nose, eyes, tail wiggle
Dog greets me at end of day
pure joy in motion
insatiable interest
the dog trembles as she waits
for the small rabbit
silver sunlight spills
over windowsill and floor
the sleeping dog sighs
Image by Robin Anderson
