I’m grateful
for a dip in the dew point
*
noshing on a handful of cashews
a Greek yogurt chaser, yummy key lime
*
my summer sustenance,
some midmorning refreshment
*
we’re watching the Open
and, later, the World Cup Final
*
a lazy-perfect way
to enjoy another warm day in July
~ for Shelly
its shoots, hot-summer starshine
green tendrils, fleshy spokes
a friendship token, gifted with love
we have no choice
eat the heat
succumb to the sultry
and try to remain patient
as we wait for autumn’s bliss
baring teeth and souls,
we find our own faults,
one with the other
speckled eggs of outrage
that only time might temper
Claude Monet painted a series of more than 250 water lily paintings,
a major tenet of his work the last 31 years of his life.
He so loved his water lilies, gardeners rowed a small boat each morning,
out to the middle of a pond, just to dust and clean them, per his bidding.
*
three twigs neatly arranged beneath the dash,
carefully aligned between accelerator and brake
urine-filled pop cans and bottles
hidden in closet crevices, those darkest of corners
fears of a lover’s demise during the night,
vibrating alarms allow silent sentry
doors locked & unlatched, locked & unlatched
in an exasperating repetition of senseless obsession
*
dappled sunlight augments the subtle splendor
of a simple garden pond —
its lovely waters, a simmering hot-bed
of potentialities
steeped in the deep shade
of our honey locust & Chanticleer pear,
I set the hose nozzle to SHOWER
and give the hostas a good long drink
mindless tasks, so perfect
for one’s brain to ruminate —
or rest, as the spirit moves you
this morning, mine does a little
bit of both which suits me just fine
heat-dome blues
highs topping out
*
in the danger zone,
trapping hot, HOT air
*
blocking relief
from wind & rain
*
and don’t get me started
on this gosh-dang humidity
*
and people wonder
why I hate summer
*
yours sincerely,
patiently waiting for fall
binoculared-vision
of evening silhouettes
*
as Canada geese
congregate
*
on the fairway,
the handsome backdrop
*
of terraced fields
in the distance
*
summer days
already contracting
*
as the slow race
to autumn begins
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
A Sawyer's Daughter 
Chit Chat