Friday, December 6, 2013

Small Moments

#reverb13 Day 6:  simple moments, memories
Which memories from this year do you wish to keep with you always?

Four bluebird chicks waiting. August 2013

Every day this year, small moments caught my attention, so I would write a note to remember. Here are some of those moments of ordinary magic.

Storms, May 11, 2013

After the blue flame and thunder of the eastward storms, in the valley branch, an unseen symphony of spring peepers, toads, and tree frogs rises, reaching me. This is our song; this is our dance, our romance.

Last Day of May, May 31

The old mare moves slowly up the corduroy road on the last day of May; a hot afternoon. Her pace is just enough to lift a breeze above the dust, and her hooves on the wood, a lullaby rhythm. High to the west, is the sugarloaf mountain, but, closer, I catch sight of a young groundhog standing in the new corn, both only two hands high; both searching the sky for a taste of rain. The old mare knows the high clouds have none, and she waits for a drink from Bennett's creek. Along the east side of the road, honeysuckle blooms on the remnants of a split rail, a brief kiss from a childhood sweetheart, and I dream in the afternoon of a brown-eyed Susan, while the old mare moves slowly up the corduroy road.

Summer Solstice, June 21

Summer's twilight fireflies ease into life’s bright fire, and fade away, like shooting stars, like you, and like me.

Perigee Moon, June 22

Milk glass sky, its curtain of clouds, wispy white, twilight, moving stage right for the star of the evening; perigee moon. Firefly ushers, with soft light, show us to our seats, while passerines pair up in birdsong, the opening act. Perigee, her dance of veils behind the locust tree; each veil drops; the black, the gold, the blue, the silver, as the artist pours an ale. Oh, Pensée; he is waiting for epiphany; perigee moon.

Gambol & Glow, August 11

 Behind the tall pines, just above the horizon, the summer sun sets low, and the glow begins on the wings of tiny insects and gamboling fairies that are invisible, but for that sunlit moment, they dance for us all.

Circle Dance, August 16

In all the six directions, the unseen symphony surrounds, and I am the still center; my circling partner, the dancing gibbous moon.

Quiet as a cloud, October 17

In the veiled light of predawn, we ride the side roads, south toward the Monocacy river bridge, past the cornfield and Queen Anne’s lace, into the fog façade, the grey above green, a watercolor wash atop the cover crops, as quiet as a cloud.

Taking to air, once more, October 18

Dry fallen leaves lift and spin, soaring in an autumn afternoon wind funnel on the old oaks road; a precise impersonation of the swirling murmuration of starlings; one last caprice before winter rest.

Rain Wet Morning, November 1

In late October, when the corn comes down, the farmer’s son, with the combine’s cut, kicks up corndust clouds that cover the old oaks and the naive sapling, dappling the autumn reds in camouflage and khaki, until November arrives, with her predawn storm to rinse and shake the rain wet morning. The farmer’s ancient mother hangs leaf laundry to dry; fresh color for this new day.


  1. Each one a gem, a year's worth forms a priceless necklace, one to wear again and again.


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