At first, it’s not much of a river

             for Remy

This morning begins silently with little light –

like a river at its mountain source,

just a pool of water flowing downhill –

gathering its kind in increasing potential energy.

A raindrop, seed, a newborn in spring.

 

newborn

 


The title of this poem is an aphorism by William Stafford.  more info

Relativity

sunrise over waves

Again I watch the sun rise east
climbing over me, stationary in my home,
and setting, as always, to the west.
If at the North or South Poles,
that’s not so. No East. No West.

 

spring blossoms

Spring came early this year – a day
early astronomically speaking, but weeks earlier relatively,
based on my garden’s buds and shoots.
Perhaps not North of me and not
the Southern Hemisphere, where spring is autumn.

 

day planner

It’s a month of Saturdays in retirement.
Or perhaps every day is now Wednesday,
since weekend days still seem somehow special
hanging off my calendar in another color.
Are there still 24 hours each day?

 

After the Rain Blues

Even the new plants in the garden

have had enough of the spring rain.

Winter lingered. True spring passed us by.

Warm, moist, green jumped to May summer.

Brushing rosemary and sage scents the air.

 

Robins brush their wings against window screens

attacking reflections of their own nesting instincts.

They started nesting in the pine tree

outside the bedroom window under our gaze.

Today, three blue eggs match the sky.

robin nest wiki