A Teacher Early to School

Working in a school, I often sit and listen to school sounds. Here, I pull meaning, or construct it, from one of those sounds. Tis a cliched construction, but so be it.

File:Williamsburg cobblestones.jpg

A Teacher Early to School

A woman,
brow hankerd in thought,
briskly clops

through the empty hall,
clicking her heels

the cold floor
as a mule
might clack its hooves

a cobbled road,
the quiet stones.


Yesterday, I went kayaking,  the season’s first trip. Becuase of recent rains, the water is high and I was able to explore areas of Waywayanda Lake that usually is too shallow to explore.

Here are a few photos and a few thoughts.

Oh – good news. Yesterday, I mentioned my hope to reach the 750 blog follower mark. I did. Thank you all

Image may contain: tree, sky, plant, outdoor, nature and water

Image may contain: tree, sky, plant, outdoor, nature and water

Image may contain: tree, sky, plant, outdoor, nature and water

Image may contain: plant, sky, outdoor and nature


Broad grasses
rise from the water,
flicker against the wind
like verdant flame.

Dragonflies dart
between these plumes of wet heat,
where silence is thick, sweaty
and time creeps as a turtle

from the mire to perch on a log,
know the sun, and rest


OK…I did it. Here’s the poem I pulled from the photo I posted yesterday. With your permission, I’ll post the photo again.

And maybe, just maybe, this post will grab me two more followers. I need two to reach 750!! All are welcome.

Image may contain: plant, tree, bird, outdoor and nature


The mourning dove insulates
her nest with the shadows fairies cast,
a darkness that softens earth
and, when carefully secured
between the twigs and stems
the bird weaves into a small bowl,
layers as thin as whispers,
the nest will well cradle her eggs,
foster an ease, the creature’s soft song,
a music that soothes each moment it graces,
smoothing a minute into hours.


Earlier this week, I snapped the photos shared here while on my way to work. Determined to craft a poem inspired by this light, this dawn, I did just that. For good or ill, I wrote a poem.

Image may contain: sky, cloud, twilight, outdoor and nature


When, as smoke, it drifts,
golden clouds above hills
painted with hues of shadow
and forgetfulness,
I, like the rabbit squat

in tall grass, coiled as a spring,
the chipmunk perched
on a soft stump,
incline my better senses
toward the air,

still cool with night,
and reach for God’s hand,
His finger touching earth
where earth flames with new light,
as He offers this mantle and core a spin.