—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
We took a walk one brisk afternoon,
shuffling through brown, gold, and
amber leaves falling around us.
As I bent to collect some, you joined me.
We selected the bright ones, still alive with shine.
We stopped at a market for food, including
the biggest, perfectly round pumpkin they had.
Once home, we set to work on it.
You sliced off the top, leaving its stem intact.
Then we both ambitiously dug out the pulp.
The juicy pulp would be for my pies.
I carried it off to the kitchen in a large bowl.
You took the pumpkin shell to hose off and carve.
In the kitchen I made dough and filling.
Soon oven heat released a sweet, spicy essence.
While waiting for the pies to bake, I took the
and wove a wreath, looping wire around a wooden
interspersing fresh cranberries among the colorful
I stopped when I heard you coming into the kitchen
with your jack-o-lantern. I wondered what face it
THE LIFE OF A ROSE
We were tight little rosebuds,
wrapped petal over petal,
pink and perfect in our innocence.
Stirring and thriving in the sun,
My velvet petals open and waiting,
winning or losing, being chosen.
Was it the same for you?
As quickly as a rose is picked,
its life begins to fade.
My head is bowed and limp upon my stem.
My edges curled, and color pale, while
my petals close sadly in shame.
Pressed inside a book, only a memory
of a short life. My scent is faint.
I am looking back at young salmon swimming
in a stream,
darting through stagnant water, and jumping
their silvery scales reflecting sunlight. I was one
That small cove was my home and only world.
I was satisfied there, feeling safe in a warm,
while the others swam upstream. Where were
Now the water is gone. There is no way for me
I jump helplessly, my body flopping in a net with
The sun burns my flesh.
THE WEATHERMAN’S PROMISE
The promise is fulfilled
as the night sky opens up
spilling torrents of glorious rain
onto parched, city streets.
I revel in the moist, cool air.
Summer was hot, dry, and endless.
The rain falls heavily, but it relieves
the heaviness we felt all summer.
I want to run outside and drown
in the downpour, to turn my face
toward heaven and give thanks, but
I am content to stay indoors and listen.
You can fix anything but a blank page.
—Medusa, thanking Linda Klein for today’s fine poetry!
Northern California and otherwheres,
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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(A cookie from the Kitchen for today):
crown the Sierra, then
burst at the seams~
from the gods!