on the longest day
as the sun sets
stand on the shoreline
hold still in time
as the sun sets
let the waning light
hold minutes, seconds
strive for peace
in the waning light
stand at land’s end
in search of peace
on this longest day
—Deb Johnston
Hueless to me until thou come
As, till the Bee
Blossoms stand negative,
Touched to Conditions
By a Hum.
—Emily Dickinson
Sundown’s emberlight
on crimson, burgundy, gold—
bewitching beauty
—Deb Johnston
John Muir— “When we contemplate the whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and
dotted with continents and islands, flying
through space with other stars all singing
and shining together as one, the whole
universe appears as an infinite storm of
beauty.” —Thank you, John Muir
ON THE DUNE
limber grasses tango
waves flaunt white ruffles
pines arrange cool shade
roll with the lake breeze
waves flaunt white ruffles
polish rocks along the shore
roll with the lake breeze
trace patterns in the sand
polished rocks along the shore
shadows of the gulls circle
trace patterns in the sand
just for you and me
shadows of the gull circle
limber grasses tango
just for you and me
to rest in the pine shade
-Deb Johnston
Emberlight Festival, August 2021, Ironwood Michigan 1st Runner-up
Let your beak decide, does this spark joy? The tidying up method for birds. #nature #birdwatching
In Memorial – Barb Cranford, Poet
Snowstorm, December 10
on the highway
sirens groan
deep in the woods
the house is still
sirens moans
woodstove hums
my house is still
on Emily’s birthday
woodstove purrs
and snowplow drones
on Dickinson’s birthday
while I share this poem
snowplows fade
on the highway
as I write my poems
deep in the woods
—Barb Cranford
I dream of a better tomorrow,
where chickens can cross the
road and not be questioned
about their motives.
Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven,
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,
Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves,
I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring.
—Walt Whitman
An excerpt from Walt Whitman’s elegy to President Abraham Lincoln. It was in the summer of 1865 during a period of national mourning of the president’s assassination on April 14, 1865.
Deb Johnston 