The last of the sunset

Watching the last of the sunset 

Through the lace of madrona trees 

We drink in the colors 

And breathe in the scents 

Of Spring.

Simple pleasures

The simple pleasures and textures found 

In a walk on a random beach 

On a sunny afternoon give reassurance:

 Life goes on, tides roll out and in again, 

The roses somehow take root and bloom 

In the most unlikely places; 

The sky still turns the water blue…

 Life is good.

Colors of spring

The colors of spring 

Have scents of their own 

And sprinkle the ground 

To flavor the earth 

With their sweetness…

Finding balance

As the weather grows warmer, 

The appeal of cooler colors grows as well 

And we find ourselves longing 

For the blessings of shadow and shade, 

While, conversely, as politics grow shadier, 

We hunger for the heat and light of truth, 

Seeking always to find that delicate balance.

A country built of windmills

A country built of windmills, 

Always seeking to face into 

The current wind of thought, 

Easily distracted, always ready to churn 

Turning, turning, spinning to convert 

The latest falsehoods into power,

 The latest scoop of sound 

Into a bite to increase influence 

Without demanding any grounding in truth.

For our children

I bought this little Buddha years ago, 

Enchanted by the fact 

 That he tenderly cradles a child 

And has the face of a wise old grandmother. 

And I’m still moved to see him, 

Lit by the morning sun, 

Sitting in my lavender garden, 

Still cradling the children of the world 

With that beatific smile…

Apple blossoms

Each year the apple blossoms return, 

Their glorious perfection 

 Enchanting me once again, 

Even without the implied promise 

Of fruit to come, come fall. 

The colors, the scents, 

 The hum of the bees — 

All music to my heart.