Sunrise Through Ash and Smoke

And as the pink sun rises up
against the flat, gray sky
she, too, rises up from the ash
rubbing it from her eye.
She's not a phoenix, swift of wing,
for she can't even fly,
but that does not mean she can't rise
and give it a good try!

Old Friend, Old Memories

The moon is rising, red of face,
into the night time sky.
The sun has settled down to dream
and bid the day good-bye.
I feel the stillness of the night
call to the wild in me,
but what is old and tired has
greater priority.
I know the moon is watching me,
remembering the days
when I would play all night within
his silken, silver rays.
But those days are long past and gone,
there's no wild left in me,
so I will bid good night to him
and too that memory.

 

The smoke from the wildfires in British Columbia is blanketing western WA. While it's hard on breathing, it makes for some amazing and eerie moonrises and sunrises!

Sweet Night Dreams

The moon is bidding me to bed,
the night is soft and still.
I long to linger yet a while,
but I don't think I will.
For I have heard the sweet night song
that rustles through the trees
and whispers to me of sweet dreams
With every passing breeze.

Good Night!

Stars and Restless Dreams

There is a silence in the dark.
The stars, cold, bitter, bright,
Are yet the only offering
The darkness makes to light.
 
Their stillness creeps into my room
And, with much cold delight,
They fill my dreams with restless fears
That I’m too weak to fight.  
 
Tomorrow will come on at length,
With warm, golden sunlight,
But for now there are just those stars,
My restless dreams, and night.

Off to Bed

Now, as the day draws to close,

The stars call out to me,

"Don't go to bed, stay up and play!

The night is wild and free!"

But I am weary from the day,

as I was bound to be,

And I will bid the stars, "Good Night".

It's off to bed for me!

Rain Song

Softly singing, falls the rain,

Upon the changing earth.
The autumn is well under way,
Winter begins its birth.  
It’s good to hear the rains again,
I missed their rhythmic song.
But I knew, when they left in spring,
They’d not be gone for long.

The Itch

I have this itch I cannot scratch,

However hard I’ve tried.
It seems that, though I reach for it,
Relief is still denied.
 
I’ve twisted and I’ve turned about,
And still it’s out of reach.
If I can’t scratch that itch real soon
I’ll break right down and screech!!!
 
So, if you can, please lend a hand
And scratch that itch for me.
If you could reach that spot right there…
How grateful I would be.