May I have a glass to drink?
I wait patiently with my warm cookie
Licking chocolate off my fingertips
Knowing nothing’s better with a cookie than a creamy cup of milk
Majestic peaks against orange pink skies
Offering their snowy tops to the moon
Until the stars wink down at us
Next to a snowmelt fed stream
Taking its time coming down the mountain side
Asking the trees with its bubbling song
If they’ve seen the foxes and the deer
Near the soft meadow grass
Ripe, red dimpled berries
Almost as sweet as candy but also
Slightly tart, making your lips
Pink with juice. A piece of stolen
Brightness in your day.
Each pleasant pop in your mouth makes things
Right with the world, as you
Remember lazy summer days in the hammock,
Yellow sun like a warm blanket.
Tonight we hear a distant rumble and
Hope the storm will roll in while we sleep
Under a tin roof ready for tick tack taps of rain
Needling down from the sky and the
Deep grumbles and snapping claps of thunder,
Electricity sizzling in the air with each lightning strike
Ripping from the clouds, while we are safe in warm beds.
Cold butter sizzles in a
Hot pan ready for bread with
Extra slices of cheddar tucked inside.
Every time I ask if it’s done you tell me
Soon. When I finally get the chance to
Eat the melty toasted sandwich, all I can taste is your love.
Concrete sketches in bright pastel colors,
Houses built with squares and triangles
All underneath vibrant yellow sun rays
Layered on top of moss and gasoline stains
Keeping their shapes until the next big rain.
Rippling curtains of water drop from
Anemic skies leeched of color
I reach my hand out to feel the cool mist
Never wanting this shower to stop.
Kneading with soft fluffy paws against a bundled blanket
Intent like a tiny baker making biscuit dough.
Talking in little purrs and rumbles while he works,
Tip tap with his pink toes against your belly
Exposed under the fold of the blanket.
“No claws,” you remind him while you rub his ears.
Balanced in tippy stacks, packed tight together,
Overflowing from shelves. A whole room filled with stories
Often loved and lent and returned again and again,
Knowing that to each new mind, their words are an unforgettable treasure,
Stolen in little moments of borrowed time.
Giant flakes of snow Swirling in the fierce wild wind We wait for the end
A cold mountain lake Still enough to reflect my Face in the crisp ice
Weeping willows sway Slowly moving in the breeze Like mother’s long hair
Crisp orange leaves fall On a plush green bed of moss Here for a long sleep
What looks like taffy Is hot molten rocks, a thick Destructive river
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