Taking thoughts captive
Favorite smells: mown hay, turned earth, summer rain, line-dried laundry
Some Published Work
Capital Commentary contributionVespers
When you and I
were in our prime,
we sat on the cool concrete step
with bare feet in dark grass
as dusk deepened.
Boys who had leaped
to snare random spurts of pale light—
squished into glowing rings on fingers—
quieted in beds.
Above our heads,
the Milky Way materialized
in a pointillistic arc
of bright blessing;
while the whippoorwill
sang vespers.
© Glenda Mathes
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A junco who visits our deck to pick up seed that falls from the hanging feeders has a broken wing feather. It sticks out at on odd angle, as if stuck in a permanent salute.
It doesn't seem to interfere with his ability to fly; however, I can only imagine the havoc it must play when he tries to hop among close branches.
posted by Glenda | 9:55 AM
1 Comments:
Hi Glenda,
Just checked your blog, read about the bird and then my eye caught your "Chameleon Woman" poem on the side. Beautiful!!! Read it several times.
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