Crows complain their way

through the morning mist as doves

coo in soft wonder.

~

During morning rains,

iridescent grackles gripe.

Nightjars, wisely, lounge abed.

Flashes of insight

help clarify what needs to

follow. Sometimes it’s nothing.

~

Flashes of lightning

illuminate and highlight

some things maybe best unseen.

Allegheny dawn:

Cool, even in high summer.

Mountain morning mist rises.

~

Knox’s dawn was packed

with squirrels and he rose hot

to chase each and every one.

Seeing so many

squirrels at the bird feeder, Knox

perked up. He had work to do.

~

A good dog’s labors

wait for no one’s permission.

They’re a call a dog must heed.

That huge red-headed

quickly flew away.

woodpecker raised eyebrows, then

~

He may be timid

and stunningly beautiful

but he’ll destroy your siding.

Love, tucked deep inside,

is looking for a way out.

Let’s extend a hand.

~

An extended hand

even one offered in love

can be taken as a threat.

Broad vistas appeal

in a way close confines can’t.

The converse is also true.

~

Whether limited

or limitless views, it’s up

to us to choose when and where.

Though the rain persists,

my spirit is not dampened.

I know the sun shall return.

~

In the transition

between raining and sunshine,

the sky’s an artists delight.

The ides of July,

dawn to cool refreshing breeze,

soon turns thick and syrupy.

~

For a brief moment

July relinquished its bold

claim to beastly heat.

What is it about

us humans that we travel

afar in search of what’s here?

~

Have you not been told?

The grass is always greener

the farther you get from home.

Holding on to junk

long past its useful purpose

can hardly be a virtue.

~

Practicality

frequently takes the back seat

to sentimentality.

When days are packed full,

it’s important to take time

for a bit of spaciousness.

~

Vast empty spaces,

ultimately, get packed full;

nature abhors a vacuum.

How can people act

so completely soullessly

and still call themselves righteous?

~

Righteousness can be

a convenient cover-up

for self-serving behavior.

Day Lilies show us

a way to greet the day, but

I’ll go with Weeping Willow.

~

Willows gentle sway

reminds us of ocean swells

and the wombs rocking comfort.

Looks like summer heat

or grandchildren’s invasion

has stifled your pen, partner.

~

Stifled and swamped, I

inadvertently laid my

pen to rest. I’ll rally soon.

Having overslept

overworked to compensate

and so scribble some drivel…

~

Scribbling drivel

is better than the nothing

I can do these days.

For all its blessings

modern technology can

be the devil to work with.

~

Seems the road to Hell

Ain’t paved with good intentions

but rather printed circuits!

Modern politics

bears a strong resemblance

to Pacific Cargo Cults.

~

Such resemblances

abound, but are seldom seen

by so-called civilized folks.

Smokey skies reflect

our lack of care for the earth.

When will we wake up and look?

~

As the heat rises,

it’s business as usual

like those proverbial frogs

It’s a miracle

poets lived to scribe again

after days like yesterday.

~

For folks who like short

poems such days encourage

writers to oblige.

Because we want things

sooner, we often end up

paying for them much later.

~

We also end up

paying more for what we want

than if we had just waited.

Dishwater grey sky,

Oppressively sticky air

Portend evening turbulence

~

And early the next

morning the trees glisten, kissed

by the rising sun.

Where the poet starts

and where the poem goes can

surprise even the poet.

~

Poets are open

to chronicle all events

no matter their relevance.

Seeking the answers

seems a futile exercise

when the questions keep changing.

~

As I age, questions

and answers absorb me less,

and being interests me more.

The sun made a brief

appearance, but long enough

to lift our spirits.

~

And afternoon storms

dampened me and my spirits

while I smoked pork for dinner.

Aching muscles

serve us as a reminder

that our peak is in our past.

~

When goals muscle past

good judgment in an effort

to be met, aching ensues.

On that rainy day

it seemed inspiration was

washed away, but it returned.

~

The tide ebbs and flows.

The seasons follow their course.

Great Sequoia sprout and fall.

Rainy beginnings

turn to felled tree removal

leaving little time to write.

~

Rain and felled trees can

delay the most committed

of writers, but you rallied.

Remember when we

tried to pass for twenty-one?

Lately I aim for sixty.

~

Seems the “Golden age“

is always somewhere ahead…

until we think we’ve missed it.

Despite diligence

even well-tended gardens

sometimes run to weeds.

~

Diligence matters

nonetheless as the harvest

eventually will make clear.