Spring Prairie Dawn

I am still on the dark side of the earth

but the monks of darkness have begun

shedding their robes underneath the trees.

Canopies of black.

Layers, stages, stories, bodies.

Thunder rumbles all the glass in the house.

A pinch of rain.

The Mourning Dove calls.

Cloud mountains 

move in perfect silence, 

sailing high above the watery blue 

at the edge of morning.

And here it comes,

filled with golden light,

and songs and cool air.

How amazing

that we can grow new eyes

after so much darkness. 

.

winter stars

Drawing 742 by WRH, 2018

These winter stars

hanging above the veiny street - 

are they darker

with the slow bath of death?

My failures of compassion 

burn like a constellation of pins.

Is fire the price of kindness?

Pain the price of health?

The winters are decreasing.

Less complaints about ice.

More love 

of flinty skies.

The hidden face of time

wraps around my bones,

an old coat handed down

and down . . .

I am forced to lie down. 

My daughter runs 

and jumps on my back

over and over again.

With my grunts of riant pain

springs of wild, green laughter

erupt from her body

and cover the leaping world.  

.

Dark Winter Day

There is no stillness.

Perhaps later.

Snow hangs in the air.

My child leaps off the steps

into the world.

The trees are bemused,

maybe frightened.

Some of them. 

Old cars wait

in the street

with unshakable loyalty.

My child and I thank them.

We become snow for a bit.

Time hides under 

the leaves 

on the ground.

A brown blanket

at the beginning of snow.

Also high

above the house

where golden threads 

circle in a 

giant ring.

.

The Garden

The hills breathe deep

moist and seed heavy.

The prairie thick 

is wet and ready.

We wander the days

awash with summer 

while cloud women climb

with fire and thunder.

The river prays

with back bent low.

Cities flash

and slowly grow.

Deep within this giant bloom

people move with love or fear

then die into another garden

taking what they planted here.

.

New Autumn

                                                               Willa  #437




Little Daughter and I
laughdancing 
a spin kick jump dance. 

Sparks of sweatjoy flying 
everywhere after a long 
day of workschool.
















































































.

it is spring

full moon rising at dusk.

the old cardinal 

lands on a branch

with buds like tiny clocks

pushing everything forward.

a congregation of lightening 

is growing in the west.

today in the garden

my daughter held worms for the first time

like a giant 

fumbling with curiosity 

while wrestling with the instruction 

to be gentle.

the feeling 

of compassion.

it is spring.

rumble rumble.

my prairie chest

is storming across the roll

is rolling across the stumble

is roaring about the reeds

is snoring around humble

Rumble Rumble.

.