yesterday, storms raced by on their wild, gray steeds

gnashing their teeth and stirring the air with rain spears

happy birthday

dear sandie.

autumn moves through the streets

following traffic rules of her own

what a day

for a daydream

climb up these stairs

no one will know we're here.

if we're very, very quiet.

their season

is over

but what stories linger on their stitched lips.

dog gone

will this rain ever stop?

what could be easier

than to cherish the simple miracle of

plaster dancing with glass baubles

and glass baubles dancing with light

(welcome to the dance new followers:

abcd, ratu, vie, pedro, jared,

pepe, daniel, braja, chrissy, tsandy,

ron aka t.o. geezer, other ron, and ree)

she mesmerizes

she tank-ilizes

she struts high-rises

she's twin surprises

is it possible there's someone who doesn't know where i've been?

now isn't she just the cat's

meow?

how cherished was young winnifred

who died in 1884

at the age of 17.

pebbles from the whetstone brook

turned from terrible weapons of flood

to tossed and polished art

as narcissus discovered,

sometimes a reflection cannot be denied.

the line forms

on the left

(out of town for a few days. take care.)

raindrops

on an old-fashioned white rose in mr. brattcat's garden

come linger a moment beside me.

tilt your head back,

close your eyes.

together we'll eavesdrop on the conversations of crickets.

tender petals turn toward the sun

and sing a sweet september song

boston twinkles

at night.

even the traffic dazzles small-town eyes.

how weary the mill workers

at the end of their shifts.

how eager to cross the canal and go home.

historic district, turner's falls, massachusetts

thank you

to all the men and women

who voluntarily step into the frame

when hard work must be done.

fresh picked peaches

ripe to perfection.

what would you do with them?

the view

through yesterday's mill window

(mb, you are soooo clever)

what do you see

through the window of this abandoned mill?

after a week of sun-blissed weather

it's raining

again

in brattleboro

at the green mountain orchard in putney

despite the lateness of the season,

blueberries still offer their purple globes of sweetness

to the intrepid picker

even with so much flattened by water

the grass

and the clouds

and our spirits

rise

a river runs through it

river road, putney, vermont

august 29, 2011

obsessed

with water.

swollen river

thundering falls

(east putney falls road,

three days ago)

theme day: perspective

the moon does not grieve.

nor does she sing with joy.

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