Snow Fairies

The snow fairies shed their winter-wear of white

            and emerge from the caves and crevices they huddled

            in below the snow, below that pile of leaves we left

            in the corner of our yards, creeping out unseen in winter sun,

            short days, to feed the birds and small animals, mice and vole,

            the sparkle of new fallen snow, as they scurry out and back;

and now, clothed in spring, they stretch in the sunlight,

            that glimmer we see in the early morning, rising at the pink

            of dawn, a quick glance but seeing nothing; it is their wings,

spread wide, aflutter in the light of a new day reflected,

their secret shared with those of us watching,

            still, quiet, early rising and believing. 

At the End of the Day

At the end of the day, it’s good

to take a hot shower, the spray

of water running down our bodies

and tired muscles, soap-scrubbed,

washing away the dirt and sweat

of our lives, old bodies toiling in the sun

and humidity of humanity’s work, learned

over long years laboring, to sustain

ourselves, our lives and the life of this place,

this planet we call home, free to grow

and thrive, pursuing that which makes us

happy, contented, and giving us a reason

to rise again and work some more,

washed clean again at the end of the day.

 

It’s too bad, at the end of the day, we can’t

as easily wash off the dirt and grime

of the self-claimed powerful and moral,

those who make us feel dirty, powerless

to keep ourselves clean of them and their abuses

heaped upon this old world, no shower strong enough,

long enough, to cleanse us, at the end of the day. 

The Right Note

 "A Meditation"

The right note

            sustained

            unwavering

carries with it

the weight of the world

            the right pitch and tone

            the right dynamic

                        soft underneath

                        or resounding

balancing this creation

            melodic

            harmonic

            tonal

the hum of earth’s vibration.

Bucket List

- a list of things a person wants to achieve

or experience, as before reaching

a certain age or dying –

 

Paris in the spring time, sitting along the Seine

at a café, un café noir, s’il vous plait, and a croissant,

L’arc de Triompe and La Tour Eiffel, and a river cruise

down Le Seine through the heart of France, wineries

and little French villages, romance and leisure,

Burgandy and Bordeaux, a loaf of bread, and thou;

 

and then, across the channel to England, London

and Cambridge and on into Banbury, ancestral roots,

Banbury Cross and St. Mary’s parish, wandering the streets

and rolling fields, following John’s footsteps in British quaintness,

and to see a fine lady upon a white horse, rings on fingers

and bells on her toes … her own music, wherever she goes;

 

and home again, a long weekend in New York City,

by train, a Broadway musical or two, something classic

or newly redone, a carriage ride through central park,

and skating, perhaps, at Rockefeller Center, round

and round under the Christmas Tree, or Macy’s store,

America’s diversity in one place to feed my hungry palate;

 

and a cruise up the Alaskan coast, to the little inlet towns

and villages, the flights of eagles and escort of whales

and dolphins, lost in the wilds of this great frontier, misty

fjords, lush forests, gleaming walls of ice, legends untold,

the old West spirit still alive - my own spirit winding down

and so much to see, so much yet to live, so much still

undone now on the bucket list.