scraggly pines
uneven branches
against pink clouds
with advancing time
my changing perceptions
Ribbons
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The Condos at the end of the Cul-de-Sac
“See you at the mail box,” I say to my friends when we speak on the phone. Neighbors we are, one on my left, one on my right, three widows, with me in the middle sharing a condo wall with each. The Merry Widows. Or we were.
a little tipsy
senior decorum slips
with a bawdy tale
Lunches, dinners, shopping. Impromptu gatherings for coffee with freshly baked cookies. All that was before. Before our advanced years and vulnerability made us cautious, made us retreat and pull back, keeping our contacts to the essentials. We keep in touch by phone and emails, gripe, worry, encourage. On occasion we meet outside at the mailboxes, short meetings, voices raised so as to hear words spoken at a distance and through a mask.
“What’s new? Saw the doctor. Ordered online. Catch you tomorrow.”
It’s not enough, but we endure and hope. I collect my mail and retreat, but with a lighter step.
slow cooker
for one or a dozen
it’s about the wait
FAILED HAIKU
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and the rains came
spring rain
the pond rises
to meet the willows
the blurred shades
of a watercolor garden
rain-streaked window
showers
splashing down the grassy bank
purple crocus
opening windows
the first rays of sunshine
after a hard rain
more rain
April ends
with a new pond
Heritage Hills News
Odysse y An elusive floating. I reach out and clasp sunbeams. I move forward, searching for I know not what, yet, understanding...
