
summer looks like the tops of lush, green trees
and a steady dock,
the whisper of a flying finch,
and the setting of the evening sun
against the sweet smell of cut grass

summer looks like the tops of lush, green trees
and a steady dock,
the whisper of a flying finch,
and the setting of the evening sun
against the sweet smell of cut grass

an untouched notebook
the dawning of a day
a box of new pencils, or paints or crayons
beautiful new books
rose buds
a bright, blank canvas
sprinkles on a freshly baked cupcake
puppies and baby birds
new heels on old boots


those little purple faces smile serenely on the balcony–
while the geese fly and wasps dart and the frogs call out at dusk

like a beacon to our senses,
the pond cast soft reflections of peace

cars from the 1930’s and 40’s
bottles filled with buttons
objects found in abandoned buildings
jelly jars as glasses
lockets with locks of hair
stamps on yellowed envelopes
chipped pitchers holding fragrant lilacs
photos in cigar boxes
rolodex rotary files
steamer trunks with hand lettering
thick, tall maples
bibles with scribbled family trees
barns on the pennsylvania countryside


pixies hide under ferns

morning mist arising

fading spring

coffee in the morning
summer sunrise
the blue hour of dusk
fireball cinnamon whiskey
acoustic Spanish guitar
finding pressed flowers in old books
the moment before falling asleep
this book of poetry: The Art of Drowning, by Billy Collins
blue bandanas
cool quartz crystals in my hands
this Irish folk song: Mrs. McGrath, early 1800’s
watching hawks fly
lillies of the valley in a tiny vase
the sound of my kids laughing

Storms never last do they baby
Bad times all pass with the winds
Your hand in mine stills the thunder
You make the sun want to shine
From the song, Storms Never Last by Jessi Colter, 1980