the heart root of the elm tree,
this morning an owl standing guard.
black silhouette, broken limb, gray sky.
we are rain and green and fog, and scattered here and there, the almost invisible orange of trumpet vines. we are a sunday morning cat running in the rain, a streak of stripes past the door and then back, into the house, too awake too early.
last night's dream: a hummingbird shell,
the bird having slipped itself free,
leaving behind just a bit of emptiness he or she once called me.
my god, but sunday mornings are quiet here on my street, at least the rainy ones, at least this one, the only sound that of dripping trees and a mockingbird off in the distance. church bells ringing, but barely there. september is almost gone, and i swear she just got here, just dropped in for a moment and a whisper, flinging storms about as a bit of housecleaning. all the unripe pecans have been knocked from the tree and my toes have been chilly every morning for the past week. september, we barely knew ye.
i am back to 5 day work weeks and my house is back to cluttered, but it is artful clutter if you don't count the dishes in the sink. laundry piles up and my hair is always a mess and the polish on my toenails is chipped and worn, totally gone on my right pinky toe. baseball is winding down, today's game the last season game, my fingers crossed for post season - for me, the true end of summer. after baseball, halloween and black tissue paper pompoms for the business, and true autumn, and then november, the month of birthdays. i can see the map drawn out before me, with a path headed to christmas, luminarias standing guard against the cold of winter.
but that is then.
right now is a blue jay squawking across the sky and a back yard full of cardinals.