The air splinters like glass– I perch on a gnarled limb, a solitary watcher in the fractured gloom of night, where bitter winds gnash at a starless sky.
Below, the earth trembles with despair, its pulse a staccato of sorrow, as the cacophony of man’s ruin echoes through my ancient eyes. I, the silent sentinel of twilight, bear witness to hearts ensnared in an endless dispute.
I drift through fractured hours, each moment a shard of broken light, and in the rustle of dying leaves I hear the desperate murmur of questions scraping at the marrow of human intent.
I long for a guiding voice– a call as steady and resolute as my own nocturnal hymn– that might reach the steely hearts of our world’s posturing masters, whose empty grandstanding leaves their people trembling at the ominous specter of what is to come.
Yet wisdom is never tender; it is honed by the relentless edges of despair, etched in the scars of time and the silent ache of the dark. I, who have seen centuries unfold beneath these ageless stars, offer my muted counsel to the chaos below.
I am afraid, yet I remain–a keeper of ancient truth– praying that, in the echo of my solemn hoots, a spark of reason my be kindled. May their voices rise, clear and fierce as the cry of the night owl, to lead us from the tempest and transform shattered hours into the promise of a new dawn.
I once believed in fairy tales, in love so vast, so bright, A love that soared on golden wings and lit the darkest night. I dreamed of hands that knew my own, of hearts that beat the same, Of whispered vows in starlit hush, of love that burned like flame.
Yet time wove shadows in my path, and love became a ghost, A wistful wish, a fleeting dream, a ship without a coast. I wandered through the quiet years, through echoes soft and thin, Not knowing love was biding time, still waiting to begin.
And then—you came, like summer rain, like dawn upon the sea, A love so deep, so fierce, so true, it woke the soul in me. No fleeting spark, no passing storm, no whisper in the air, But something strong as ancient oaks, as certain as a prayer.
The love of ballads, sonnets bright, the love that poets weave, The love of kings and wayard knights, of hearts that won’t deceive. A love where laughter, wild and free, is laced with tender sighs, Where every glance is poetry, where longing never dies.
So here we stand, with hands entwined, where fate and dreams align, A love reborn, a tale retold—forever yours and mine. No more a wish, no more a ghost, no more a fleeting glance, But love, at last, as it should be—our fated, timeless dance.
I have found love again! I am so grateful for each and every glorious moment we spend together!
This year I soared through skies untamed, Where heights were thrilling, dreams unchained. The sunlit peaks, so bold, so near, But shadows lingered – storms appeared.
The winds of change, they howled and roared, And turbulence I so abhorred Shook the wings I thought were strong, Yet somehow, still, I flew along.
The high points glimmer, bright, profound, Moments where my heart unbound. I treasure these, their golden hue, And honor trials I stumbled through.
For every bruise, a lesson learned, Through fiery paths, resilience earned. Not unscathed, but still I stand, A voyager, with faith in hand.
Now as this year’s horizon fades, I pray for softer serenades. A gentle landing, calm and clear, To close this wild, unsteady year.
And may the winds of what’s to come, Bring brighter skies, a kinder sun. For though I trembled, I endured – A stronger soul, a heart assured.
Wishing you all the very best for the holidays and a wonderful 2025! ❤️
In the dappled light of the forest’s edge, He struts, wary, along the bramble’s ledge. His ruby throat, a beacon of flame, Bobs and flickers, untamed, untamed.
Eyes wide with a primal, ancient fear, Each rustle of leaves, each sound draws near. A breeze, a shadow – he freezes, tense, A sentinel poised by a fragile fence.
Down the road, domestic birds parade, Fat and oblivious, in sun-spotted shade. Their fates are sealed, their end well-known, But his is a dance in the wild alone.
Will he endure the frost-kissed nights, And coyotes’ teeth that gleam in moonlight? Or will his feathers scatter, a fleeting trace, Of a noble life in a ruthless place?
No table awaits his wary kind, No cranberry sauce, no sage entwined. Yet the woods hold stories cruel and raw, Where survival bends to nature’s law.
I spied this wild turkey standing alone on my walk today. I have always seen him with his mate and worry that the coyotes may have taken her from him. I hope he can find a good hiding spot in the woods tonight!
Upon the highway’s winding course I sped, When, far above, a falcon soared and spun, In widening gyres, a dancer in the sun, The sky its stage, the world beneath it fled, Each sweep, each turn, with majesty it led, The climbing spiral, silent, graceful run, Riding the breeze till earth and sky were one, And all my thoughts were to its freedom wed.
Not mine, the wings that cleave the golden air, Yet in my breast, a strange desire grew- To feel the lift, the warm caress, the rare Delight of flight that to the heavens drew. Not to escape, but for the joy to share A moment’s lightness in the sunlit blue.
Perhaps the joys of my first roller coaster rides and waterskiing around the lake come the closest to the feeling of flight that I craved that day.
I sense the shift, the whispered chill, The tender breath of autumn’s will. Where once the summer’s golden beam, Danced lightly in a wistful dream. Now lingers faint upon the air, A fading warmth, too brief, too rare.
The roses, once in bloom so fair, Now bow their heads in quiet prayer. Their petals fall like summer’s tears, While winds begin to wake my fears. The squirrel gnaws on apples bright, Then leaves them, half-consumed, in flight.
The clothes, once crisp beneath the sun, Hang limp, their drying days near done. No longer do they flutter light, But cling, as if a ghost at night. I stand in stillness, heart grown sore, For summer passed, and nothing more.
I did not seize the season’s cheer, Nor dance beneath the skies so clear. Now autumn comes, with somber grace, To steal the warmth I can’t replace. And yet, I brace for colder days, Winter’s chill in a frost-bound haze.
I spotted a California quail while walking in the woods today – a last offering, perhaps, of the summer season.
In verdant glades where pine woods dense did rise, Beneath a canopy of emerald hue, There dwelt the pheasants, nye with watchful eyes, Their clucking whispers soft as morning dew.
Among the shadows, hidden from my gaze, Their presence marked by crimson, fleeting bright, Elusive specters in the sun’s faint blaze, They danced like phantoms in the fading light.
A childhood spent in backyard’s wistful play, I lingered near the forest’s secret veil, With heart that yearned for just a special day, When pheasants bold would cross my playful trail.
Though glimpsed but rarely, they forever stay, In dreams and echoes of my long-gone youth, Those pheasants, shy, in twilight’s soft array, A symbol of a time of joy and truth.
Whenever I see an image of a pheasant, I can’t help but smile! It takes me back to the landscape of my youth where I was so happy playing in the woodlands near my home.
In days of yore, in times Victorian fair, By the pond’s edge, with crisp, clear air, We children gathered, hearts aglow, To feed the mallards crumbs in tow.
Their emerald heads, with sheen so bright, Glistened like jewels in morning light. Majestic creatures, in green adorned, A sight to cherish, a scene to mourn.
In summer’s warmth, they swam with grace, Dancing on water, a joyous embrace. Their quacks, a chorus, a playful cheer, Echoed sweetly, ringing near.
But winter came with chilly nights, A frozen pond, no duck took flight. The waters stilled, the mallards caught. In nature’s grasp, their freedom sought.
We’d rush to save them, break the ice, With tender hands, a sacrifice. To free their wings to let them fly, Underneath the frigid sky.
Those emerald heads, with memories tied, To days of laughter, when time would bide. Still call to mind a youth so grand, With mallard ducks, and crumb-filled hand.
I remember a kindly police officer who helped us children free the mallard ducks stuck in the frozen water of the neighborhood pond. It was amazing that the ducks survived!
Satin & Sand 