Day Twenty-six, NaPoWriMo

Those sitting with hills
brushing their hair with wind
having a cloud ceiling.
These are the folk, trusted
and thought to be brave
facing the dangers they find
and ignoring the phantoms.
The birds bring them news
and the seasons, in turn,
bring them joy and wisdom
bearing new changes and gifts
Those sitting with hills
have gentle hands, knowing
life to be tender, a baby
or kitten or fish to hold
and then when done
to set it free, smiling.


Day Twenty-five, NaPoWriMo

In the rain the ground
parts to let the still greenness
flow upward and out.
In the rain the greens
resolve to face April’s chill
leaving the warm mould.
In the rain the world
takes a big breath of soft spring
and relaxing, exhales.

Day Seventeen, NaPoWriMo

The radio spits out
news that can’t be held
listening as witness,
eyes opening and turning
to the weirdness of snow
on the seventeenth
of April, snow, hail, sleet
doesn’t this seem
more likely than
all that world stuff?
Mid-April, not mid-March
The days are more
February than May
more grey than sun
and all that again today
This weather three sixty
made fields fine brocade,
green and gold and white,
shining drops on each twig
each an upside down world
each the moment’s truth
and then gone.

Day Sixteen, NaPoWriMo

I think the wind and sleet got to me last night and this morning. Ready for spring, mother nature. C’mon, you can do it!

This morning,
amidst wind and sleet
appeared a flock
huddled and clinging,
impaled on branches,
dislodged by the
next gust,
flown now, circling,
they rejoin last year’s
broken castoffs
seeking the wood’s refuge.

This took a few passes. I think the wind rattled my brain too much!

Day Fourteen, NaPoWriMo

Last night
a few days after
the last seen flurry,
a scent of,
daring, spring.
Just past the last
hill home where
the shoulder
is a stream now
dopplerized frogs
in a night
of crossing roads
of crossing seasons
no need to tarry
no reason to hurry,
we’re here.

Day Ten, NaPoWriMo

Yes it was snowing again this morning.

The front yard fills up
with the early arrivals
grounded, bedraggled,
doubting themselves,
hoping for better.
They get more
sunflower seeds instead.
They scuffle nonchalantly
in the April snow,
all beaks toward May.

fooling around digitally

Not as welcoming a surface to work on, glass, but when given the opportunity I try to learn more about sketching etc on an iPad. Here was yesterday’s quick “pencil” sketch. I think it was with the 6B setting. Brush, pencil? It’s all software.

Maybe it’s just been a sort of black and white week.