Summer walks...

Summer walks, smelling 

sweat & dust &

the occasional dog.

Written Last Week

Each Spring
I put away my sweaters.
But it's not warm yet.

---

Thankfully

that rose bush resurrects

every Spring.

---

Lupine grows in the spot

where there's no concrete.

It dies by Summer.

---
Spring by the creek--
a turkey & I 

walk the same path.

Don’t tug / Summer heat / To fill a pie / Hopeful

Don’t tug!
Like everything else,
blackberries
come off their vines easily
when they are ready.

—-

Summer heat—
Dandelions stare at the sun
unharmed.

—-

To fill a pie, use
both ripe and unripe berries.
As in the world,
sweet and sour are needed
for the desired taste.

I’m not happy with this one. It needs work. Too didactic & not natural.
—

Hopeful,
a bee hovers over
a glass of lemonade.

September 2018

The smell of fennel--
bees walk on yellow flowers,
smelling ocean air.

----

Weeds and flowers,
wild fennel and iceplant--
occasional butterflies.

----
Gulls cry a lot.
Summer's last hurrah--
Maybe they're hot.

----
Peaceful walk--
except for the pebble
in my shoe.

----
The ocean's edge
smells of weed and pee.
People sure fuck things up.

----
Shimmering sea,
Indian Summer sun beats down--
a grebe floats alone.

Spring-like days...

Spring-like days --
I cut hydrangeas
and think of my mother.

5/12/15

I eat avocado
and pretend it's summer.
My cold feet though!

Two Haiku

The old graveyard--
hot sun filters down
through green leaves.

---------------

Little white fingers trace
sculpted grave statues--
filtered sunlight.


As a child, I spent at least part of my summers with my two aunts in Placerville. My favorite aunt, Annie, was very involved with a church very near an old graveyard there.  I would go over there and play, reading the stones, touching the statues, feeling the summer heat even in the shade of the trees. It was a peaceful place, with headstones and statues that were beautiful to me. 

Written in September

Summer's last hot gasp --
browned trees and grass and herbs
and dying flowers.

Yet Another Actually Written Today!

Nectarine juice on
my sticky hands-- the smell of
fading Summer.

9/1/14

Summer's end?  Not here:
black and white birds fly past
parched grass to a green tree.

8/19/14

I long for figs--
sweet and seedy Summer fruit
praised by ancients. 

4/28/14

Dragonflies on rocks,
ants in crabgrass. Heat. Dust.
Summer's almost here.

At Studio Biongiorno II

Small fountain waters,
lone lavender plant in shade--
Summer's breezes blow.

Summer sun glares down...

Summer sun glares down--
a crow hops in the shade 
of an old oak tree.

A Longing

I have a longing
for Summer in Fall, for pop
and sunburns and Light.

All Written in May

Behind my eyes, hot
tears readily prick, then run,
trailing lines of salt.

----------------

Summer’s confusion:
Rosemary bushes reach for sun,
finding only sky.

----------------

Especially for Ash

Awake or asleep,
cats express disdain too well—
or is it ennui?

----------------

Peace eludes me.
My heart is too heavy for this
wintery summer.