the blue muse

endings and beginnings

journeys and returns

heart and soul

seeking

comfort and light

in the cold grey sweater

of autumn’s embrace

.

.

.

It grew late and I was tired and there were clouds threatening to obscure my view. But eventually, it all worked out, and I sat beneath a star-filled sky and watched the moon eclipse and just as it was almost there, a shooting star raced down the sky.

And I was so glad I’d stuck it out, so glad I’d brought the camera out even if I didn’t get the tripod set-up, and so happy to just sit there and watch the super-bright moon turn all mysterious and orange and red and beautiful.

There were no pictures of the full eclipse, none that came out anyway, but I don’t mind. Eventually the cloud cover did move in, so I wasn’t able to watch the shadow pass through.

Even so, it was a perfect evening, clear and cool with a magic-filled sky and a cricket-filled yard, and a gratitude-filled heart.

I’ll remember it, always.

.

.

.

and every year i
think of working harder
to force
the soil to produce
blue hydrangeas
but then i
think
how much these
so obviously
just want
to be pink

.

.

.

wishing you a weekend filled with color

.

it has been a quiet day. not silent, of course, there is never that, but quiet.

part of me feels empty because of it. part of me feels soothed.

i sit here now, late at night in my living room, dog at my feet, television not on, not wanting to disturb the peace.

the windows are open, it was a warm day for fall, not too warm, just perfect.

i hear crickets outside singing away, sounding somewhat frantic, as if they know that very soon the nights will become too cold and then they will be stuck in months of quiet.

a waxing gibbous moon hangs low in the sky, so close to full that I would never know that it isn’t, except that the weatherman says so.

it is autumn, autumn in new york, and you can smell it, the scent of leaves on the ground, a basket of apples, cool nights.

in the field just down the road, the farmer started cutting down corn today, leaving short bare stalks sticking up from the ground, rows of little soldiers bearing witness to the folding in of summer, the boxing up, the putting away.

a surrender that we know must happen, but watch wistfully, just the same.

there is a new package by the back door, but i haven’t opened it just yet, it sits there in crisp wrapping paper, colored in golds and tans, browns and oranges.

i think i’ll leave it out there just a day or two longer,

while i sit here and listen

to summer’s last moment

of silence.

::

.

.

.

This post first appeared 09/22/10

The cardinals sit outside my window eating kisses.

Blue sky and autumn chill, anemone and silence.

We are all whispering this morning,

the flowers to each other,

and me to myself.

Trying not to wake

the afternoon.

.

.

.

and soft whispering scent

timed from dawn to dusk

on a nature-made

sundial

.

wishing you a weekend filled with kisses

.

.

.

.

of days gone by and smiles to come

and this morning

all golden and dancing promises

with the tiniest of smiles

crossing autumn lips

.

.

.

That I always fall in love with.

How could I not?

.

Wishing you a week filled with beautiful messes.

.

.

.

.

of silent blue sky and

wondrous

cloud clamor

holding court

in yesterday’s

garden

.

.

.

.

Summer came late to the party

earrings dangling

and hair askew

from the winds of change

she rode in on.

.

We sat for a while

and talked about

forgiveness.

.

.

.

.