signs of spring

 One last stone for the January road...

this wind wraps around me
a dark and icy coat
the lining filled with
memories--failures past
worries present

I shake it off.
I will not suffer it
it is not who i am now
Spring is coming
I will dance bare-shouldered
in her hopeful petal showers

solar power

sun reaches in
through bars of
winter-bare trees
spilling into
yellow puddles on
ground

i stand still
face up
eyes closed
arms raised
grateful,
charging

from my office window

 

glide and flap
the branch sways

in his beak a strip of foil

clever crow boy brings home bling
for his newly made girlfriend

comfort

Welcome Home

chicken soup and just made bread
greet us from the kitchen
as we brush off our coats and the cold
at the door


(in praise of my slow cooker and the bread machine
who do the work while we play)

my ritual too

we are pilgrims for one day
doing the yearly ritual.

we follow the path down, down to
where the sea beats these cliffs

we walk with ghosts on stones
1,200 years trod for this same purpose

we pass the stalls--
their bright colors and
tempting smells will wait

we wash our hands and mouths,
enter the cave.
standing before the bright red box
we throw coins with holes in their centers.
we shake the bell, clap the gods awake
and pray for a good new year.

My grandmother's family were Jewish.
On the other side--waspy Protestants.

I am who I am, but
will take all the blessings I can get
from whichever gods may be
watching over me.

white eye

tiny pale green birds
white-eyed acrobats
dazzle us with daring feats
among the camellia blossoms

the first stone--not what you think...

trailing scents of spice and yeast--
off to the shops for butter.
does the checkout girl's smile mean she knows
it's for cinnamon rolls?