Good Morning

Good Morning

It is not quite six a.m.,
fifty-eight degrees,
and the sun has just risen
over the hills behind our home.

The goldfinches and crossbills
hummingbirds and black capped chickadees
have been chattering since pre-dawn,
feeding and flitting in the ponderosa pines.

The deck I sit upon,
in my purple Adirondack chair,
is western in location,
so the cool of early morning
wends and winds around my bare legs, bare toes
Like a Siamese cat demanding attention.

God’s good morning kiss is soft
and cool as a breath of air
on my cheek

Sunrise

Sunrise

The hilltop is ablaze
With the sunrise of morning,
Not flame lit by the hand of man,
But of God.
A particle of His glory
Sets the sky on fire
Lemon yellow, pomegranate red,
Seashell coral, plumes of plum
All lavishly dashed
Across cobalt blue.
The sun awaits its cue
To rise
Following such an auspicious announcement
Of yet another day.

Moon

Moon

Moon over mountain
Tricks the eye.
Which is larger?
Earth or sky?

Mountain etched black
In base relief,
Moon steals the scene,
Bright golden thief.

Silver flicks and flashes,
On the gently lapping lake,
Reflecting moon’s glory
For glory’s own sake.

Moon rise triumphant
Mountain lays below
Terrain softly lit
By moon’s benevolent glow.

Quilted Countryside

Quilted Countryside

Scattered across the counterpane,
Knots of cattle and sheep with lamb
Roads threading over soft folds.
Needles of sunlight piercing the clouds.
Plowshares feather-stitching the fields.
Circles of oats, squares of timothy,
Diamonds of alfalfa, rectangles of rye.
Farmhouse yards with calico flowerbeds,
Striped cat and spotted mongrel dog.
Velvet waves of golden grain.
Corduroy rows of grass-green corn.
Denim blue ditches crisscrossing fields.
Warm woolen warp of wheat.
All pieced with the plowing,
The planting,
And harvest.

L

Lake

Lake

Hush, as a breath held…

Sky admires fiery fall finery
In the cerulean blue below.

Turtles bob and submerge,
Bottle-glass green, inquisitive.

Hovering osprey fold wings,
Rocket crashing onto finned prey,
Rising, winging away,
Trout silhouetted torpedo position,
To the nearest pine bough.
Breakfast is served.

The wake of a yard-long otter
Echoes the formation of south-bound geese
Toward a grayed and sodden deadfall.
Pulling gracefully onto the weathered wood
Grooming begins.

The rustle and rush of field mice
Crackles through the year-end grass,
The chill air eliciting urgency
In the hoarding of seed
Insulating of dens.

Rain tiptoes across the lake.
Thirsty earth sighs.
A north sough ruffles and pleats the darkening water.
In earnest the rain gives its all.

L

Bravado

Bravado

Queue of quail
Crossing the road
Right in front of my Subaru
And I’m doin’ fifty.

Male quail
In the lead
Shows no fear
And no sign of turning his
Brood to flee.

My foot hovers
Over the brake pedal
Ready
“Please fly!”

Mama quail
Turns tail
Followed by a flurry
Of fleeing offspring.

Papa quail
Toes the yellow line
Holds his ground
As my car streaks by
With only a slight ruffle 

Of his top knot.

L