Summer is a seasoned time – radiating promise’s glance

Off of sea and stone. Catching a child’s eye and mine
Winking back to the smile sun brings to souls.
The clean smell fresh of prairie or water wind running
Through hair and seemingly even skin makes me remember
Moments love-ful and real, grace-changed past, and presently.
Now I stand on the curve of fall’s dawn waiting for the
Aged graceful entrance into the earth and me,
Red and yellow paintbrushes announce the end of things –
But not finality – for which I hold it dear.
Giving way to winter’s white embrace lacing crystals
from heaven to dirt, strings of cold beautiful wonder
To cover and cleanse world’s brown death like a wedding dress
Changing a bride (who too once buried dead words and works)
Into Glory’s reflection, pure, bright; eyes trusting toward
new life – Spring.




ejb