Pointing  Autumn approaches With a gauzy gray sky And air cool and tangible, Like a room filled with beings. We step forward After
Whatever else may be happening in the greater world, we are going to want pie when the weather turns cool. And every other time
“Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks arise Around; up above, what wind-walks! What lovely behaviour Of silk-sack clouds! …†​ These
In spring it is the dawn that is most beautiful. As the light creeps over the hills, their outlines are dyed a faint red and
Only July, and Already tiny acorns Fall from the old oak. ​ During these times of historic cultural change simultaneous with the continuing spread
​On the porch at dawn The silver track of a snail On the newspaper. ​ ​During the month of May, like so many others
The Birds of May So much happens in May– Our heads spin, our breath catches, and dizziness takes control, Like dancing the May Pole
​By the time you read this, most of us will have been home for six weeks or more. I am baking. No shocker there:
April’s evening breeze, Too soft to move the strong lilies. Touches the wisteria’s new lavender blooms, Clustered like graceful fingers Pointing down at the
Possibly, no one likes winter more than I but even a fog and rain lover can’t resist the excitement of our world busting into
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