Coolness And Flame

Leaves whisper quietly.

They fold over and around -
pale greens & darker olive hues –
sharing secrets
behind fluttering fronds
& soft bended tips,
slightly wilted
in August heat
& Southern afternoon
steamy gusts.

Like murmers between
intimate friends
words softly spoken
behind guarding hands;

"September's coming,
then October...
We'll flash, flare then fade
& be quietly trodden into
the earth
below.
There will be a short dance -
twirling, shimmering
skirts & coat tails
of saffron & umber,
crimson & ginger -
And then
we'll return.
Bursting out in a
fragrant commotion.

But for now
we ride sweet breezes
& dream of sleep."

Walking beneath them -
I reach up & pass
trailing fingertips
through their tendrils.

I sigh
& long for
the coolness
of their flames.

August 26, 2011 - 12:24pm - written at Provence Cafe in Nashville, TN

Happy Birthday To A Friend

If I could, I would take you –

at this very moment,

by side- along apparition, of course –

(as every Harry Potter fan knows

Is possible) -

to a bright & open & sunny café for breakfast

to celebrate this happy date in time -

your birthday!

We would sip café au lait

and nibble golden almond-flecked croissants,

sides of warm fruit

and glasses of sharp & sweet

orange sunshine.

The bookstores would call us

and we’d speed away laughing,

debating destinations

by numbers of shelves

or quality of treasure.

We would plunge into the stacks,

lifting aging volumes to our noses

and breathing in their history

as we debated purchases

and gloried over discoveries.

Then, foot-weary but satisfied

we would drift into the Tearoom -

smelling the poppy seed muffins

freshly baked

and the floral, fragrant Earl Grey

reaching to us from the front threshold.

We’d let the china patterned teapots steep

with their inner glowing amber

and we’d talk

and giggle.

And I would life a cup high

and thank the Lord

for the blessing

of my friend.

You’d wave me off

and laugh

with your light, dancing eyes

and declare that we Southern women

don’t talk about birthdays.

Or maybe what you’d say

is that time, itself,

is our friend

because years shared

in happy communion

only add

to Aladdin’s stored wonders

of thoughts, and mirth, and stories

and sometimes tears.

But I am miles away

from you, my friend –

at least for today.

And I raise my cup anyway

in celebration

of The Countess!

Written April 7, 2011 - 8:30am

Midnight January Snowfall

Raising the shade

quietly,

softly,

slowly

onto the predawn indigo sky -

the world of white

pushes its bright glow

of moonlit iridescence

past my motionless

spellbound form

and then across the quilts

covering you.

Dark frigid limbs

balance

ridges of powder white

and reach outward silently

above the pale, glimmering

coverlet below.

Then

as I steal back

undercover

to watch

the night hours pass

from my mummied warmth -

I absorb the sound of you

breathing beside me

and see the January sky

gradually

lighten.