This past winter, snowy or not, I turned to Louis Armstrong. I had to blow the trumpet of spring before its time. Now, in May, the blooms are catching up. Satchmo is inside, Satchmo is outside. Daffodil jazz, la vie en rose, what a wonderful world.
Low tide created a path, a wide bar of pebble and sand. We walked across, eyeing the gulls that dropped shells from low heights. The island was almost ours alone – we saw one other couple, a lone woman, a family of deer (without its buck), and two woodpeckers. We were able to walk by […]
The sun wakes up later every morning, and so do I. The first tree in our neighborhood forest has handed over its leaves to their autumn color. Town is still crazy with people; their boats look larger than islands when they chug into the harbor. Yesterday a car accident killed a man, and I thought […]
I walk down to the beach, and am shocked that the tide left behind over 50 translucent jellyfish. They are stranded and look more like the product of a good sneeze than anything alive. Sand fleas bounce through seaweed drying in the sun. Two loons drift a dozen feet offshore and glare at me with […]
A butterfly with pale lilac wings bounces through air across my local horizon. Tangled webs sway in the porch rails’ corners while their spiders watch. Seed pods detach from their tree, smack me in the face, and land in my hair. Lichen makes its symbiotic journey across rock, bark, and lumbered wood.
Tender magnolia blossoms reach up like young hands to hold, and light takes longer to leak away each night. The farmyard has more hours to fill the neighborhood with its squawks and whinnies and calls. Pale yellow ducks chase away a mallard. A june bug, newly wakened, bounces off the glass. The children next door […]