By |

the witch’s teat runs dry.

her stippled alabaster skin,

tinges of greenish gray.

she howls in echoed cadence

with a waning gibbous moon,

her thirst for retribution

unquenchable.

village folk and all who toil

late into the dark of night

or beneath the blazing heat

of a cruel sun in resistant fields,

those who tirelessly tend

to cattle, sheep and fowl,

those who bleed and sweat

and endure many hardships,

those who strive to protect

their families & keep them safe, fed

and sheltered from storm —

there are some who embrace her magic.

and yet, there are none of these fools

who do not, will not yield to her charms.

By |

I’m doing battle

with leatherwings

and Japanese beetles

this summer.

*

both are annoying invaders

to my patio of serenity,

my colorful array of florals.

*

one loathsome creature,

a dahlia destroyer,

happily munches away

on my emerging blooms.

*

the other is a bug

I’m told is beneficial to gardens

though I find their massive numbers

exasperating as they

fly into my hair,

cling to my clothing,

forever hovering, hovering.

*

they’re everywhere!

it’s all so very distasteful & annoying.

*

blech!!

*

curiously, both insects’

vibrant markings

are quite beautiful,

I cannot fault

their appearance.

*

it’s their very existence

in my garden that I detest!

By |

tendering the garden

both florals and greenery,

water bearing, fertilizing

observing gentle

growth with fascination & love

*

deadheading the spent blooms —

gray-bearded celosias,

desiccated calendula,

withered zinnias,

those faded sunflowers

*

choppy haircuts & trims,

cheery encouragements to blossom

even bushier, fuller, more flowery

than ever before

By |

strolling the meadow, the sun all a-glory,

she is adrift in a cascade of sorrel,

cardinal flower and buttercup

in the near distance, just along the waterline,

the lush brown of fatted cattails

tumble in the breeze

thoughts of gratitude leisurely

make themselves known,

beacons of intent in her mind’s eye

punctuating the warm sultry air

By |

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

I woke with aplomb,

having survived my sixty-ninth

4th of July.

*
this was a jaded, unruly one

given the angry, restless mood

of the country,

this hot, humid summer of 2026.

*

today, I enjoyed the ripe juiciness

of a Colorado peach,

sipped hot tea at our sun-drenched

*

kitchen table, a cadre of watercolor

paints close at hand,

the gentle touch of my husband’s

fingers massaging my neck,

*

our furry companion watching us

with an agreeable look

of contentment on his sweet little face.

By |

because we have no screens

on our sunroom windows,

I cranked open

the casement glass

following the morning’s

burst of much-needed rain

so that I could enjoy —

with a hot cup of tea in my hand —

a freshet of storm-cleared air

as I patiently waited for

the next rumble of thunder

By |

lined up along the baseboards,

tucked behind the swivel rocker,

crammed into plastic crates,

neatly aligned in the four corners

of our coffee table —

yes! my shelves runneth over,

stacks & stockpiles of books

some I might not ever read, it’s true

(but they’re there for the taking)

there’s always one or two

in my Amazon cart

but, no matter —

I relish every possibility!