Archive for September, 2017

Falling in place.

Black ball maters turn half red when they’re ripe.

Not quite the season’s last ones, but getting close.

Keeping the path clear, through the hay field,
past the garden shed, to the compost.
Can be seen from space.


Mowing standard: grass no more than one snake deep.


Sterilized old chimney rocks built around the culvert
over the north branch of the branch,
forty years ago, all grown in.

Chocolate veined ferns.

The warning, the promise,

it’s starting to fall fast.

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Leaves not grass.

Stem-fed stem-feeding factories alive in the air
pull energy from the sun
pull water and minerals from the earth

to build themselves

and roots and flowers and fruit.

An exquisite geometry

grooms every petal and vein

fans up in three dimensions

while competing in four

with every neighbor

for airspace and sunlight.

They employ strategies

of shape and color and texture,

delicacy or density,

to finish cycles of a minute or a day or a year
as they thrive
to amaze and delight human eyes.

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Walking the perimeter.

In summer, everyday, all around the house,

in pots, in beds,

on bushes, climbing trellises,

color explodes.

Full sun,

part shade,

all shade,

the white and yellow

and orange blooms


grab human eyes

and pull in pollinators.

Deep red

and rose

and lavender

explode

then slowly fade.

Pale blue

soft lavender,

down,

darker, to deep violet.

No blessing comes to us
as charmed
as a partner who brings forth flowers.

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