Category: Morning Meander

Telling?
I’ll go with intriguing for now.

It is intriguing how poorly I sat with “free of weapon”.
That’s… not all right
In my gut.

Am I so very afraid that the image of riding on, weaponless, makes me shake and sweat?
Or is there an old story in my heart of one whose dangerous arms accompanied them from demon to dragon for so long a lifetime that sword and axe and step and aim were all one smooth calculus.

Thank goodness.
I shall return to the blank page.

The Rider is not pale
but rosy and bursting with life
with salt-and-pepper beard
and hand extended with a smile of welcome.

The Horse is not pale
but roan,
restive,
swishing his tail
and ears.
He is strong and broad and perfectly capable of carrying two
so free of baggage or weapon.

Sgiobalta is playing with her moonshadow.

And I know it’s supposed to be a chore,
but oh how I love the smell of cut grass
and the spotting of Queen Anne’s Lace to go around it
and of milkweed to go around it
and those little yellow flowers that look like balloons to go around them.

Also I leave where daisies and Black-Eyed Susans grow together, because that is clearly good luck,
Sorcha and Dorcha.

And I leave the mint alone on the west side and I leave the thyme alone on the east side,
and the chamomile on the south,
because aren’t they lovely ground covers?

Hmm.
Perhaps I am not so much mowing as curating.

That’s all right, then.

We’ve already had a walkies
and our kibble-and-coffee
and our first couch snuggle.

Now is for lying between Mamaidh’s feet
and watching a birdie on the lawn
without even woofing.

Good dog, Max.
Steps forward, steps back, steps forward again.

Little Dog Max is sitting nicely on the front step,
dry under the eaves,
watching the rains fall,
sniffing the air.

I am, too.

It’s a perchy-feet,
a meadow singer,
an early bird.

Some I know by sound, but not this one,
though the song is familiar.

Never mind the poetry! I have just discovered that The National Zoo has this covered!!!! I am hearing an American Goldfinch. Follow the decision tree until you have a group of birds to choose from, click on the name to hear their song. OK, that is community science education that I’m proud to have my tax dollars fund.

For serious, the National Zoo never disappoints.

Right there, waiting for me,
gibbous and jolly.

She points toward the sun with her roundness, remember.

The dogs and I turned on the sprinklers (such wealth of water!)
and played laughing in the rain which is not rain and which
comes and goes.
That is a silly, gentle rain on a hot morning,
and deserving of dog-laughter.

The sun and the moon have given over the field
to the stars
and I am wide awake from listening to the night
and I step out, so close to sleep that, unfiltered, I say,

“Hello, lovers,” knowing exactly whom I’m speaking to but without knowing why.

After a few days of haze and cloud, the sky is crisp and the shine of the galaxy dances and plays and sings.
Jupiter is right there and points to Saturn.
One firefly is still awake in our meadow.

Hello, Tuesday.
Good to meet you.

Then there could be two blessings:
the pleasure of the writing,
and the pleasure of going back and reading it fresh.

Something good is happening to me.

Finding their partners with their on-off codes against a backdrop of other fireflies.
Flash-two-three-four-five.
Wait.
Flash-two-three-four-five.

I hope you found what you sought.

A nearly perfect week,

Thank You.