The wind is a bus Going here then there Carries limitless Things of many shapes. Plastic shopping bags Soon to be snagged By the naked trees. Fallen autumn leaves Doing somersaults Down the barren path. Dandelion seeds Like little balloons Up to touch the sky. And what of those clouds That bring needed rain Or hide the bright sun. But the greatest joys That the bus does bring Are those we can’t see: The scent of fresh baked Apple pie cooling On the window sill, The soft wavering Coming from the field Of gold colored hay. But greatest of all After summer’s rain The slow flowing scent Of sweet lavender. It is my desire The bus to idle And stay awhile.
Ephemerality Wispy cirrus clouds of height whisking by, While countless diamonds dance on the water, And swallows do somersaults in the sky. Like children there is a constant banter. Sitting in the cool comfort of the shade, Quiet as a lion stalking its prey, I wait for the fawns and does to invade, To drink the water, but long they’ll not stay. The wonders of this day soon to depart, To return only as a memory, Bringing subtle warmth to my beating heart. Tis my wish these memories never flee.
Outside the window Is a dissimilar world Of white and tense gray. Absent the sun’s warming glow The tired snow remains unfurled. Waiting and wanting For the water to set free As it is now spring. Many colors will it bring And will put leaves on each tree. Every day I watch Praying for the warmth to come Quickly to my place So I do not see a swatch. To see the ground will be awesome. My drab winter coat Is now stored in the closet. The sky is bright blue. Out of storage comes the boat There is music in my strut.