Long-Lost Equinox

Autumn Leaves

A rampage of  passionate pigments

A seasonal swan song

A long last life’s breath of viridian showings

before your shivering branches consent to a dance

in the November winds

Laying themselves bare

A brazen bold maple awaits its winter slumber

Watching while we rake the sepia remains

from the hills and green grass ways

beneath its outstretched arms

Autumn:

A lingering farewell to the year’s most scintillating suitor

An affaire de Coeur

Transitory and temporary and tempestuous

Till we meet again…

Day 23.  I am out of season, I know. I missed Fall in 2016 so a colleague who was making the trip up North came back with the leaves and rock captured in the image. Autumn in New England is something to behold. I took a photo because I knew the brilliance wouldn’t last long, much like a passionate love affair. I still have the leaves and rock:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unburdened

The final resting place for the uncommon

Though only in body

Dust and tinges of bone remain

beneath the knobby spring terrain

Markers bearing just a snippet of an earthbound vitality

Entry and Exit

Beloved wife

Former headmaster

Dedicated alum

Distinctive author

Her verse exposed this land’s second original sin

Time-worn graves

mossy and copper stained virescent words, faded

An existence forgotten

These spirits rattle and hum

The sound carried in the first season’s whipping winds

I settle in to listen

Day 15.  A walk and a picnic in a campus cemetery. Spring is just beginning to speak.

Hometown Run

Image result for hills in andover ma

Photo courtesy of: Trip Advisor (Ward Hill Reservation)

The brisk  mid morning air rushed at my bare arms and legs

The nip a welcome amazement

A bit of bliss

I smile as if kissed

My heart in full surge

Feeling the urge

An unquenched desire to move through the breeze

The hills, rises, and turns feeling familiar once again

The tower bell tolled ten

Its chime a reminder of a lost moment

and the comforting rhythm to our days

 I cross at the light

forgetting the long span of street that lay ahead

Houses and yards void of winter’s white

Daffodils and crocuses rounding out the renewing green of lawns and red  brick pathways

The downhill speeds my pace-

I am used to its more arduous climb, not its effortless decent

I turn on the road where the cemetery lies in the grove

My legs just starting to slightly suffer

I approach a rare flat surface

Relief briefly in store

A left turn into town

Churches white-steepled, granite stoned and russet brick

One last incline then the finish

The high road to where the boys now call home

Day 14: Already Running, Hanging and Cooking with family and friends.

Between Two Worlds

Image result for april in massachusetts

                                            Image courtesy of: AllPosters.com

 

She inquires

Are you coming back or just visiting?

I ask myself

Have I ever left?

My spirit resides in cold, granite rocks and crisp, gripping air

I stood outside at the airport

Basking in the north wind

Rejoicing in the sky that bore more clouds than sun

The southern nights have been restless in anticipation

Sleep elusive

I toss and turn in the stifling and stuffy night air

Rains of  sweat beneath my forehead and between my breasts

My body longing for the chill of a drafty house

and the warm pile of a fluffy comforter

The tip of my nose cool to the touch

Nostalgia keeps me coming back, I know

But the tug and pull of my  new life

reminds me of a joy that I am just beginning to sow

Day 13.  I am back in New England for a few days to visit the boys and my friends. My legs need some hills and a mountain to climb. I have been greeted with “Welcome Home!” already. Although in truth, I now have two places that bear the same name.

 

Ode to an Old Friend

 

I heard from an old friend today

She read news of me

Tales of the latest chapter in my new life

Her gracious wishes were felt over the thousand miles between us

  I think of how long I have known her

High school years

Different circles

My memory of her dim

We met years later in a different small town

Young mothers of young ones

Her vivacity and attractiveness sweetly worn

  She grew into her womanhood with a savvy sexuality

 Men  drawn to her like moths to a flame

 She left them speechless and hungry and heartbroken

Single again together

Sharing tales of woe and grief and much laughter too

Summer days lounging in her pool

Listening to songs from the 197o’s and trying to guess the band

She held me up 

Unaware of how her kindness soothed me

 She fed me when I was hungry

Cared for my boys when mom died

 Always expressing admiration for my strength

My ability to keep moving over obstacles and holding my head high

Old friends are a warm blanket, chicken soup and a fine glass of wine

Time passes but the love in our hearts remains

 

 

Day 12.  This literally happened a few hours ago. Namaste.

Evening Somnolence

wpid-20150429_194732.jpg

Chasing a moment 

An arc of an instant 

The fading light a fiery pyre

The day’s ending brilliant in its parting

 

Day 30. At last. An unplanned evening excursion through town gave us this gift. Taken behind my church where many of our town’s ancestors sleep.

Shadows with No Light

Credit: jezebel.com

 

You were seen downtown one Sunday morning hanging out at the local cafe’ 

Pretending to be part of the beautiful people in a tony town

 Hung over from a Saturday night of shallow dinner party dialogue

 Getting wasted on wine and secretly lusting after the host’s wife

 to  alleviate the ennui of suburban existence

Your companion is a farce masquerading as a woman “Who knows Who”

 When in reality she is merely a vapid vamp mirroring a myriad of other MLFs 

You fit well with the air kissing crowd, capable of crumbs for conversation

You feed each other tidbits and then fuck each other into oblivion 

Drown your demons if you dare

But heaven and earth will not be moved by your denial

No shifts will occur in the course of your creation

You’ll just descend further towards a self-created hell

 

Day 28. A trip to the dark side of suburbia. No apologies for the epithet. It seemed to fit the message..