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I trudge through crimson leaves, say farewell instead of good-bye. At the cottage, I pack my belongings. A season expires, yet promises the next. In the yellowed overexposed light one brief moment lives. ––Deb Johnston

like a down sleeping bag it unfolds in a gentle roll the water whispers wait there it is again in the hush birds call a tree rustles back it can’t be spoken go to the shore– listen –Deb Johnston

when one of us is distressed we teeter on the edge no longer able to reflect the sky sister lakes and contributing streams carry blue-green blooms able to choke out oxygen seeking balance once more we are but a mobile hanging by a thread –Deb Johnston

breezes tingle your wet skin grainy sand brushes between your toes beach umbrellas blossom on shore time slows to listen for the slap of a frisbee hitting water as waves stretch along the bank flashes of fireflies appear at sundown leading us inland towards home           —Deb Johnston

Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God . . . dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem. .Continue reading “In the words of Walt Whitman- “This is what you shall do;””

Happiness. . . not in another place, but this place, not for another hour, but this hour -Walt Whitman

Under the maple branches the three o’clock sun will glitter pelicans tailgate a fishing party while a buckeye butterfly rests upon a tangle of grapevines then moves to a skeletal lounge chair dock planks of warped wood gape as summer slips between the spaces                      Continue reading “Lakeside Tuesday”

Remember. The day you plant the seeds is not the day you eat the fruit. Be patient. Be humble. Keep moving forward and know that all this hard work you’re putting in day in and day out WILL produce the results you’re been looking for. Your time is coming. Do not give up. –Author Unknown

My role as the Wood Lily in stretching my blazing petals is to herald summer’s arrival. But for now the only sounds are bird calls and the whir of insects. Yet my beauty needs no voice. My vibrancy is my survival. I lure in flying guests and await the pollen. In my silent bloom language,Continue reading “Summer Proclamation”

Late July, given heavy rain and sun, I’ll follow the path to view Gull’s Rock. With sun directly overhead I venture on, thimbleberries tempt me off the trail. The flavor of summer— tart, yet sweet they are fireworks, popsicles, picnics, parades and remind me that this season ends too quickly. I savor each tiny fullness.