almost spring—
walking through town
strangers smile
contrails
piercing through purple clouds—
slow traffic home
high tide
filling rock basins
eroding them
washing the car
each swing of the hose
sprays a rainbow
we speak softly
in the heavy spring fog
all edges blurred
the heavy air—
a pause at midday
to collect myself
nothing to do...
we sit and listen
to the pulsing heat
a cool evening—
gone from the garden,
the scent of summer
advancing spring—
flowers bloom and fade
in an eye-blink;
through all the seasons
our love endures
early morning bird songs
carried on the damp breeze—
the day begins slowly
playing out the melodies
of April
crabapples in bloom,
one white, one fuchsia,
limbs entwined;
through the years each has blossomed
with the help of the other
even in chilled earth
daffodils poke through;
the wait get easier
in the warming sun
another day passes
gulls soaring above
the spongy marsh;
fiddler crabs burrowing
and we stand here
somewhere in between
an old woman,
her face rutted with wrinkles
pushes through wet leaves;
I inhale deeply
the scents of autumn
blustery winds
slowing down in the afternoon—
I slip
into a holiday mood
with tea and ginger cookies
New Year’s breakfast—
an elegant table
with longtime friends;
the talk is more of the past
than the future
they call me Grandma
these children of my children;
not of my womb,
but still I feel the bond
as if the cord had been mine
each with a cane
arm in arm the old couple,
leave the cafe;
in this life together
and surely in the next
