The Children's Laughter

In these days of uncertainty and confusion,

shaking our heads in wonder over the morning news,

our coffee cooling too quickly in our favorite mug

just out of reach, it’s good to hear the children’s laughter

and their noise, giving voice to their enthusiasm and dreams,

hopeful about the crack of a bat against a baseball

and the sound it makes caught in a soft leather glove.

Autumn Darkens into Fall

 Autumn darkens into fall

as the days grow shorter into night

and the air turns cold against the sky,

morning’s sun and evening’s rising moon

and starlight set in darkness shining. Our spirits

turn inward now toward our hearts and souls

seeking the self, hidden, too, by the dark and cold,

rapt as we are by the change of the seasons, one

into the next, a transformation done in darkness

and a trial by the fires that burn within us

to weather the changes, hardened as steel,

unyielding, yielding only to that which we are,

and are becoming, a metamorphosis into ourselves,

made perfect in the cycle of the seasons changing.

Heading Down the Long Road South to Home

Heading down the long road south to home,

highway driving, cruise control and auto pilot,

to visit with my brother, to ask some questions,

get some answers I can’t find, for he would know

what to do. He always did, growing up, whether

I asked or not, whether I listened or not, took his advice

or not, and well into adult life he’s been there for my own

troubled life with advice, assurances, and answers.

So I’m headed home to where he lies in state now

in an ancient cemetery, among the like-minded,

common men whose strength lay in themselves,

without fanfare, laurel leaves, or crowns atop their heads,

settled among the gravestones where we seek them,

shed our tears and feed our grief and leave wondering

still, but buoyed up by their strength, by the answers

they leave us with, found only in these visits home,

heading down the long road south to home.

August Images

 — 1 —

A strong wind carpets my yard

with fallen leaves, autumn’s brilliance

faded now and brittle, the trees’

limbs, the skeletons of autumn.

 — 2 —

There’s a silence on the lake,

the last of the loons leaving

and taking with them their echoing calls

reverberating in the clear autumn air.

 — 3 —

From my home, sauntering

an autumn trail through the woods,

the acrid smell of a wood fire burning

leads me back in time and memory.

 — 4 —

Autumn’s early morning, and the frost lingers

on the grass and fallen leaves, lingering,

too, and the stone fence bordering my yard,

a foretelling of the winter snows ahead.

 — 5 —

A dark night, cool but not cold,

“sweater weather,” we claim, pulling a wrap

around us, looking to the stars, awaiting Orion

to begin his winter walk across the night sky.

Peepers

With the melting snow and the days lengthening,

the return of leaves and buds beginning, life’s renewal,

we await their song in the early evening, unannounced,

announcing themselves and the return of spring

with the shrill peeping of their chorus among the trees,

so tiny as to be invisible, filling the evening air with sound

lingering through the summer months, hardly aware

when the music stops and the days grow shorter.

Likewise, in autumn’s approach, the flowers withering,

faded remnants of color still atop their stalks and stems,

and the leaves fading, too, transforming to brighter shades

of red and orange and yellow, and hanging on tight, they

drop singly to the ground, succumbing to the season,

floating, drifting to the ground, blown dryly, scratching

along the garden path to gather along the stone wall,

and again, the peepers return, announced in long

lines of cars from away streaming north, the roar

of engines and the steady whine of tires, these autumn  

peepers come to watch the season change

and the beauty unveiled in its passing.