while driving down a road in October
i pull into a wooded area,
turn off my music,
take the dog out of the car
and walk along a small path
surrounded by pines–
the trees are dressed in vermillion
and cadmium yellow–
i scoop up a handful of pine needles
and stuff them into my pockets,
take a deep breath
and head back to the car
oh how i missed you,
once you were gone
spiders build webs,
with determination and drive–
one must admire their
unwavering will to survive
ghosts dance in my thoughts–
the fog lifts,
carrying them downriver
i heard the wind making leaves rustle
on a tree the other day–
in that very moment,
it was the most beautiful sound ever heard
cherry tomatoes
the ball in a set of jacks
ripe strawberries
faceted rubies
tiny roses
faded bricks
red velvet cake
holly berries
red hots
powder-fine glitter
satin ribbons
summer cherries
train caboose
cupcake sprinkles
“I like the word clandestine. It feels medieval. Sometimes I think of words as being alive. If clandestine were alive, it would be a pale little girl with hair the color of fall leaves and a dress as white as the moon. ”
from the novel, Tell the Wolves I’m Home by Carol Rifka Brunt
almost impossibly
you grew in a most inhospitable place
and we marveled at your tiny spine
and huge spirit
a daisy always smiles
passing notes
anticipation on Christmas morning
climbing on old farm equipment
moccasin boots
hot tea and cold pizza
southwestern horizons
the sound of tiny feet on hard wooden floors
car shows
The Wonderful World of Disney, (1968-1979 version)
poetry readings
the smell of burning sage
feeling invincible
painting mismatched chairs from flea markets
chasing dogs through corn fields
clove cigarettes
spanishwoods 