I walk in my neighborhood all year long. Each season brings its treasures. This summer I saw the wildflower, Hibiscus trionum, tucked in around the bottom of a street light pole. The plant is commonly called "Flower-of-an Hour" because it blooms for a short period in the morning. The stem is prickly but the cream flower with the maroon center and yellow stamen is beautiful. Blue jays flew from tree to tree with their familiar shrieks. They seemed to be checking in with each other. "I am here. Where are you?" "I am just down the street." All summer the trees do a yeoman's work absorbing noise, dust, and carbon dioxide while giving back green color, shade, and shelter. When we moved into this subdivision in 1991, the area was being developed. Newly planted saplings now provide bountiful shade. As summer ends, the vibrant greens fade. The trees begin to let go of leaves, following a natural rhythm.
mitten. Last night I knit on the mitten only to discover the cable was two stitches too wide and ran up the side (instead of the center!) of the hand. What was I thinking when I set up the pattern on this mitten?! I unraveled it and went to bed to read A Gentleman in Moscow. I've only just begun this novel but am enjoying it. Reading about the gentle kind intelligent man is a treat.
Walking with knives and forks clattering
in my mind, I sink into the stretch of my calf.
Air conditioners hum as the sole
of my shoe scuffs the pavement.
I nod to a runner. Chickadee calls.
Cardinal marks his territory.
I pause under trees, compare
canopy of pear, linden, and ash.
Beneath a maple I plant my feet,
breathe into side ribs.
Rib to vein, vein to spine, breathfrom breath, I meet another.
Jane A. Wolfe Copyright 2018