The summer has descended to the Maple rooted in emerald grass.
Golden crown and verdant leafy shapes stands majestic in my window frame.
Mixed with dawn’s foggy lavender, it dazzles a dreamy mind.
A stem pirouettes a ballet upon invisible grace.
I imagine myself upon that Hand, twirling fearlessly… weightless…aflame with yellow.
The warm color is a last taste for the eye, I think, as I watch Osprey circle lazily together
Great vees of cackling geese honking their way in haste. See you next year I whisper…
Sepia needles are a soft, warm blizzard beside the yellow barn cat.
The green frill yet on the branches are speckled with diamonds,
I wonder and marvel, hoping to crystallize the patterns of light and shape.
After the bacon is warm in my tummy and I put pen to page.
The canopy of lace against blue disappears by the day,
Leaving bones against grey, spinning Maple seeds rain to a ground gone cool,
Yet an orange and burgundy rose stands sentinel in the fallow
Brown sweeps the land blowing winter close by
Soon all eyes will rest in the white, and dried grasses peek and wave,
Rustling frozen in time, I watch them, letting my mind go blank
Pancakes? No, waffles I think. Oh and top with a little spring sweetness
This makes my toes brave the cold floor and I rise musing
How endlessly seasons change, yet there’s only been 49
It hardly takes me any time to count up to the real paradox of time.
Seems both ephemeral…yet stretches endlessly upon the heart
Thankfully…Yes, thankfully I raise my face wondering, wondering…