Taking Chances

I am the frog
Sitting upon a lily pad
Floating on a pond
Of expectation
And anticipation.
I do not know how deep it is
Or what may lie within its waters.
Undaunted
I bask in the green glory
Of the mid-summer sun
And bathe in the wild water
From which I was sprung.
I am the frog
And I must take my chances.

July 29

Late July’s warm rain

Makes the barefoot walk to the mailbox

Feel like swimming in the Caribbean.

Clover blossoms stick secretly between the toes

Lungs inhale a lusty moist zephyr

Hair hangs in seaweed locks.

A catbird follows overhead

Lofting with some labor

From branch to branch

She sings and sings

Hoping I will catch the tune and join in

The sly sylvan chorus.

Bird-hop

Best thing I ever did
Was to sink eight cedar posts into
The soil upright,
Stubbed off at five feet.
A garden fence.
Catbirds and Wrens bird-hop the tops
Back and forth.
Peering towards the potatoes
They issue a silky call
Then drop down.