A Warm Morning

Morning hush —

Heat builds,
leaves glitter.

Into pure silver
dissolves the shade.

Birds call
winging it
to higher, darker places,
any eve
where tattered night
may hide,

seeking retreat
from day's clear,
searing eye.

(9/2011 - 5/2018)

Golden Day, Emerald Summer

Mt Hood National Forest, 2014, Brian Federle

Golden day, emerald summer,

buds erupting

to green clusters

of sweet fruit –

so sit with me awhile

in the morning shade

as the sun slides

imperceptibly toward night

and see how small birds alight

on St. Francis as he blesses

all God’s green world with

life rioting, wind-

blown seeds,

weeds wedging into small,

narrow spaces between

slender blades

of tender spring grass;

and though

I cannot see you,

know that I love you

as I know

you love me.

So together

we’ll listen

as the morning

breeze sings

of life never-

ending!

(6/3/17)

Soft July

since you've been gone the days

are silent

except for the rush of wind

in our apple tree.

See how the fruit hangs

heavy, pulling low

the branches;

ready.

so I’ll wait in the shade

of soft July

and think

of you.

(9 July 2014; revised 7/29/2017)

First Day of Summer

Blue-jay crouches on the fence,

shredding a web,

looking for an easy snack.

She hops down lightly and looks at me

wondering what I am,

so silent, still,

cannot see my fingers darting,

my restless eyes

fill with her innocence,

curiosity

life,

but finding in me

no threat, no meal,

she bends backward

bony knees and leaps

again to summer’s sky.

(21 June 2013)

Matins

Image: Ken Broadhurst

Times of transition

appeal to my sense of

transcendence.

In joyful morning

eastern gold flows

over our highest leaves.

The blue-jays shriek

as our cat prowls

the wet grass.

She does not care

that this is the edge of time.

But I can feel the sun’s fire

as I work in the yard

and hear the mockingbird

in our highest eves

calling to his love

in the cherry tree!

Soon the wind

again will rise

and another summer day

will coldly decline

as the western fires

wilt

to bluest steel, to

blackest silk.

(6/11/2011)

nightfall

grey limbs twisting

through emerald shade

reaching at last,

clear blue day!

fern overflowing,

with living lace

red rose embracing

impassioned grace.

the sun’s final flames

high leaves emblaze,

soft summer night claims

fading day.

(25 August 2011)

Brother Sun

Through soft summer grass,

oh, hear the breeze

whisper the past

and what’s yet to be.

Oh, wanderer through

soft singing leaves,

let brother sun

ignite your bright dreams!

The Heist

Two grey-blue mockingbirds

alight on my cherry tree,

and set up their look-out;

the squatting male belches

shrill, harsh warnings, his

screeching song feigning pain

to make the gold-finch

and robin flee in alarm,

while Bonnie to his Clyde

picks at my ripe cherries and

knocks one to the ground;

flitting lightly down, she arises,

all Betty Boop

red lips pouting

between pointed beak,

as together they make their get-away,

high into the cottonwood,

beyond the reach of my constable cat,

to divide the fruit of their crime.

Night Rises

“There is not a flower that opens, not a seed that falls into the ground, and not an ear of wheat that nods on the end of its stalk in the wind that does not preach and proclaim the greatness and mercy of God to the whole world.

There is not an act of kindness or generosity, not an act of sacrifice done, or a word of peace and gentleness spoken, not a child’s prayer uttered, that does not sing hymns to God.”

Thomas Merton, “Friday Psalm Prayer,” A Book of Hours

night rises

from the still-warm earth

climbs rough trunks to

higher planes

to where leaves still burn

in golden flames.