Morning Dream

In the silence, just before first light comes 

Through the moving curtain, touched by early air,

I dream a waking dream.

I am a girl, young again, standing 

Thigh deep in water, facing the sunrise.

A long shirt of thin white cloth, 

Covers me loosely.

I close my eyes and know water as it is.

Fish nibble my toes and brush my legs.

Smiling, I say words in a strange language. 

Sensing day break, through my eyelids,  

I look out to the brightening trees

On the mountain, and the birds come.

The rosy sky is filled with layers of singing.

Surrounded by feathers, wings encircle me.

I feel the energy of flight in my body.

Turning, I walk, each footstep makes a path.

A few large stones call me to sit among them.

I feel the warmth of morning against my legs,

A  gentle reminder of the heat to come. 

First listening to whispers, then laughter, 

The earth shares poems and tells stories

Without words, but her voice is clear.

I understand. I nod. I pray.

Blessings are given to an old woman who dreams.

Late September Fog

Esplendora coming to the barn

You may need to remember the curve of road

When driving over the mountain at night, 

As all is lost in the low beam of searching headlights.

Sometimes, fog is what is left over from an Indian summer shower,

Holding fast to desire for moisture on a warm afternoon.

I know the science of cooling air, longer nights, humidity, and dew point.

But seeing from high above, the thick sea of fog with its island hills

Down below in these misty Appalachian valleys, there is a conjuring

Of ancestral spells, something ancient, just beyond remembering.

I hear a distant tune, a song in a minor key.

Early morning, I find the sun still behind the slowly lifting veil,

A muted white circle, existing in that certain stillness of “fog quiet”.

Even birdsong is suspended within it.

Walking under the shadowless forest canopy, 

Leaves, just beginning to turn, release a steady, muffled drip,

Mosses and ferns by the creek, so green, 

Shine against the surrounding rock and grey air.

October shows off, and distracted by the dazzle

We don’t mourn the coming loss of color against the sky.

But today, I whistle and watch the horses appear

Out of a silvery shroud, nickering, ready for grain.

Feeling the familiar bittersweetness of Autumn as they join me,  

Rubbing their soft, furry coats, heavier now, 

I take a long deep breath and exhale slowly.

Two tears meet the smile below them.

I am grateful for the slow revelation nature offers —  

The ephemeral curtain, this seasonal pause between what was, 

And what is to come. A secret shared, a memory recalled.

A longing lived, once again.

Why I Love Watermelon

“Don’t swallow the seeds,”

My old maid aunts would say

At the weekly watermelon ritual,

“Or a watermelon will grow inside your belly.”

But I never paid attention

And dreamed of bathing in the sticky sweetness

On hot July afternoons,

Plunging my mouth into a cool red wedge

And sucking out the juice

Like a giant mosquito out for blood.

I savored each dripping piece.

Once, I even got shot at

For stealing one from a private patch,

But I was crazy with watermelon madness,

And struck by the spell of thick summer heat.

At the rodeo in August

I won the bareback event,

And the third annual seed- spitting contest

Before a crowd amazed by my talents,

Each seed hitting the mark in a puff of powder.

Then the boys chased, caught,

And dragged me under the bleachers

To push my face deep into an over ripe melon.

But I ran away laughing.

Laying under the long shadows, drawing designs in the dust

With the heavy syrup, I squeezed the meat dry

And threw it up at unsuspecting legs.

Ah, the sweetness of watermelon dreams!

I saved the seeds for the red bird’s winter visit

And my little horse liked the rinds

Even more than corn or carrots.

And just like the certainty of never being able to kiss my elbow,

I never grew a watermelon inside my belly.

Water Wish

Tilly swimming in a nearby pond

All winter we rehearsed it in our minds,

And like fish to water we long to enter the summer element.

Now we dream of cool still water within the pond’s calm center.

We see the surface shimmer that slows down time.

The whole sun, butter like, melts down on us

With its certain summer light, hanging heavy,

Poised to watch our water wish come true.

Beneath the glare, welcoming currents

Wait to revive us, with their miracle tonic.

This iridescent elixer, friend to every skimming bug,

Flick tailed fish and bird, opens wide

Cleansing us with its life giving medicine.

Water Creatures

Nearby pond

We are creatures of the water.

Our summer survival sends us to it.

You will find us where salt air moves through pine and palmetto.

Amidst the splash and churn, we ride the shoulders of the waves.

You will find us among blackberry vines on banks of secret ponds.

Like the Great Blue, we are lulled to listen and know stillness.

Yet, we dance and leap with gleaming trout and crafty bass.

We swoop and dive, free as the swift eyed pelican.

We float and frisk, plunge and play.

Seekers of swimming hole creeks, woodland rivers and runs,

We rise early, before the heat makes us lazy,

And stay late for the pleasures found in lengthening shadows,

Always taking shelter beneath the trees and clouds,

And refuge in the water.

The Greenbrier River near Hillsboro late summer