August 25


Oh see it with me !
Mountains blue, misty, or rosy,
sunsets red and gold and pink,
forests green, tall trees reaching up
into blue blue never ending skies.

But wait–there’s more than that–
there’s beauty in a friendly smile,
a caring touch,
a wrinkled face and snowy hair,
a little child with trusting eyes,
a table set with thanks and love,
or a baby’s coo.

And oh ! There’s beauty in
well-written lines,
in deep emotions spilled on paper,
in marvelous music that moves to tears,
and in your face as
you look at me with love.

This poem I wrote because of memories of a special cherry tree that I loved to climb and sit hidden among it’s leafy branches when I was a child.

first my shiny green leaves fell off
and I felt naked
snow fell and I shivered
in the cold and wind.

but the snow melted and I felt the sun again
soon the man who planted me
came with shears and saw
to cut off some of my branches

I looked down one day
and saw small green shoots
they grew longer and
I felt encouraged

the man brought his children
to see my new growth
he told them to watch and one day
I would wear a lovely white gown

the sun came more often to
warm my branches and
encourage my tiny buds to open
until I was covered in blooms

the children came and marveled
at my beauty once again
they climbed into my welcoming arms
and I was renewed in the circle of life.


August 10

I’m almost done with my weeks of therapy and I can’t say I think it has done a lot of good. Same old pain. In fact, this morning, after I left therapy, I thought I had dislocated my hip. The pain lasted for most of the day and I could scarcely walk. So much for therapy !
That’s my latest whine. The best thing to do seems to be to distract myself somehow, which does more good than anything. When I am busy writing or playing, or visiting with friends, the pain goes to the back of my consciousness.


the neighborhood wakes slowly
birds chirp undisturbed as seniors
stroll or sip their coffee,
yesterday’s heat forgotten.

pets walk happily here,
so close yet far from
the bustle of the downtown market
where dogs dodge crowds
in a confusion of legs streaming by.

here birdsongs are clearly heard
while the slightest of breezes
makes gnarled old trees
look askance at one another,
each unique although
standing for many years together
like neighbors who never left home.


after the rains the sage becomes
a proliferation of purple,
bursting out in a
joy of beauty,
ephemeral, and thus
more precious,
like pleasures that come
once a lifetime.