In the quiet of the morning, I dig my hands into the earth, lettuce leaves stretch to the sun, garlic bulbs whisper beneath the soil. Onions peek through, a humble promise, Roma tomatoes blush with summer heat, cucumbers curl, hidden in the green. Basil stretches its arms toward the sky, while thyme and oregano weave
in springtime, the earth rumbles and the sun-kissed soil begins to stir slender leaves suddenly begin wriggling their way to the surface, eager to drink misty raindrops and bask in the balmy air and I wait, with anticipation for the sturdy stems that will rise in the days to come, sprouting their bearded petals of
It’s a short drive to the park. Winter has made a whimsical return as if to poke fun at Spring. Snow powdered trees appear to float in rainwater lagoons. I throw my daydreams into placid pools and wish for sunlight. In the foreground, flakes fall, melting instantly on a glass stage. In the distance, they
Ghosts of Winters Past I remember the Christmas when I awoke to see a shiny new toboggan standing tall beside the tree and winter breaks spent sliding down a frozen hill where neighborhood kids could all be found rosy cheeks and tingling toes under sunny skies at ten degrees below boots trudging and crunching through
a tree is planted humble and graceful it stands, boughs stretch upwards as roots grasp earth’s rich, dark soil the eternal foothold that breathes new life awakening buds blossom eager to bask beneath sunlight’s warm rays and misty morning showers slender limbs unfold into nature’s sanctuary where squirrels scurry and bird’s nest among weathered,
An Instance Of Karma It was a hot August night. Jill was working hard at the local convenience store, and her husband, Jarvis, was working hard also—busily digging her grave in the back yard. He just knew she had been cheating on him. Not that he had any proof. It was the way she smiled
We barely finish dinner of cauliflower and chickpea coconut curry, when you suggest we dash to the beach. The sky, like a southwestern painting of burnt orange and turquoise is obstructed by the stately maple tree in our back yard. Donning my fall jacket for the first time this year, I welcome the brisk, blustery
Seasonal speed bump— large clump of rock salt in the road January— skyscraper tops shrouded in snow January, yet no one on the sledding hill January— one man, one dog on the beach January— wind-driven whitecaps on the still-unfrozen lake
In A Mist it is the day after and I phone wanting to say a new song has nudged into place though my children play off-key tunes in the other half of my house I phone with all my senses jazzed by the gift of touch that foggy cornet a symphony by Bix Beiderbecke your
