Once More

Once more with feeling
once again step out.
into the sunshine,
into the rain,
into the snow,
out into the mists.
Open each day like a present,
let it rest upon your hand for a moment
watch it transform
from morning to day to night
from box with heft to weightless paper leaves
as light as down;
feel them flutter and multiply
into a breeze, lifting your hair
filling the air.
Open each present like a new day
a chance
a whispered wish granted
an answered prayer—
a thing transported to you
from another with love
with hope for usefulness
and for your happiness.
Open your heart
light the candles
feed the fire
remain upright
with open hands and arms outstretched
breathe and begin again
to pretend really hard
until you believe.

Make merry.

I am sorry, widows.

I am sorry, widows.
I am sorry for only giving you a lunch or two out.
I am sorry for only sending a card on your birthday.

I am sorry for letting you go.

I am sorry I didn’t organize your fringe of friends
Into taking care of you when you were sick.
I am sorry I didn’t move into the guest bedroom
And bring your meds on time,
And crackers and juice,
And fresh water and hot tea;
And watch TV in the living room
So you would know someone was here,
While you got better.

I know it’s not summer now

I know it’s not summer now
I am set back breathless.

The sun no longer blazes high
The clouds between us
Grey or black or white
Filled with rain or lightening

The earth below green
Breathing the heat
That makes sweet
The flowering and fruiting

Now, in time between
Before flaming fall
There is the tantalizing hint
Of new colors lying in wait.

Of crisp air on my face
When first I open
The door to the morning
I am set back breathless.

Labor of Love Day Weekend

Labor Day of Love Weekend

I got there.
She got sick.
I took care of her.
The apartment was hot.
She is grateful.
I went home.

I have driven 52,865 miles.

I have driven 52,865 miles

I have driven 52,865 miles in 2 years and 4 months. Most of that is to and from work—54.4 miles RT. Some of it is to and from Baltimore—598 miles RT. And there have been several holiday and wedding trips to West Hartford, CT—628 miles RT. Once I drove to Maine—1121 miles RT. Sometimes I drive back to Hobart-William Smith to see my former students. Sometimes I drive back to Honeoye Falls to see old friends—37 miles RT.

Many miles. As I drive I have tried to watch where I was going, to drive carefully. I have also tried to really see what is out the window—to find what is interesting and beautiful. I have seen the run down houses and old barns covered in snow and then framed in green. I have seen traffic lights winking through the windshield wipers. I have discovered mini-pictures in my rear view mirrors—like little periscope pictures.

I have often brought my cameras with me. Sometimes I shoot on the fly with my cell phone. Is that safe? Probably not. Mostly I stop and pull over. Lately I have gone back to a scene to shoot it from different points of view—not just from my window. The problem with this is that the photographer is not part of the picture. I am not part of the world. He is an outsider. I am an outsider. Somehow that fits perfectly. Of course, I could start using a timer and jump in the shots. There’s thought.

I drive and drive. Practically zooming. Mile by mile. Minute by minute.

Soon I will shorten these necessary and unnecessary drives. Will I miss them? Will I be happier without them? Will I be happy?

I am crucified on my deck

I am crucified on my deck,
arms outstretched,
toes to the west,
watching the mothership of a grey cloud
pass overhead.

I want it to surrender,
to fall and blanket me.
I want the cool grey air
to descend as it would into a valley
Hiding me, protecting me.
A shroud of cloud.

But instead, it drifts
across the sky
in ever shifting patterns.
A loose shiftless layer of smoke
between the blue far above
and my little house below.

Instead I am left behind--
the cloud sailed by,
revealing the bright sun.
I shut my eyes
and the heat nailed me back
against the deck.

I have a storm front headache

I have a storm front headache. It is only one of a sundry of nagging little ailments that are hanging around this summer.

My radio tells me that Virgil, New York is supposed to get hit. June, July and now August--just about all of upstate New York has been hit.

My body tells me my head hurts, my heel hurts and sometimes my hip hurts. My teacher vacation is fraught with these throbs and twinges.

Apparently, the rain and the nagging little pains never end. 90 days of wet, cloudy aches speckled with drops of sunlight. Such a conundrum: exercise through the pain or don’t exercise; embrace the cool temps, put on a sweatshirt and run outside; or when the sun is out, stop dead, strip and soak up the rays. Force the body to run and jump and kick and stretch; or rest the weary bones and muscles.

The Queen Anne’s Lace is waving to me. Welcoming the storm? Or signaling danger? Who are we kidding the Queen Anne’s Lace doesn’t care. It is a pliant and patient plant. Busy undulating as the temperatures decrease and my head ache increases.