Is?

Is that all there is to a nor'easter?

Or should I just look out the window

   and smile?

As for this while

There is a sky, dirty-wet-white

Crossing the heavens low

From shoulder to shoulder

And trees, aplenty

Wait-watching in moldering puddle of leaves.

The squirrels, my new neighbors

Are hanging off the bird feeder

By tenuous toenails

Great grey pendulums

They are tracking the morning's moments

Seed by seed

And nothing more shall willfully come

Of any of this

Except for the waiting and watching.

Cup of Tea

Could you bring me a cup of tea?
And sit with me for a few short moments?
The view through the window reveals
The dulcet pasture
Now vacated by the cattle
Now the domain of squirrels
Secreting hickory nuts.
They are manic!
Or perhaps just being squirrels
Flush with the wealth of the mast?

I will place my hand,
Warm from the cup,
On the soft skin on the back of yours,
Knuckles and sinews
Stories of your days
Some of which I know
As I was there with you.

An empty cup
Signals the end of this moment,
Something will call you off:
 to tend to a chore,
 to empty your mind
 or to refill it.

The pasture will call me back,
there's a bird at the feeder...
As a gust of wind
Rattles the window panes.

Up

 
The squirrels are working
They play so casually and fluid,
Trunk to branch to stem
Nipping leaves at the twig
Loosing green walnuts
 In a random cascade to the earth below
These green gifts
Dropping like flakes and meteors
Falling to rise again
Passing through space and time,
Perhaps a prelude to winter?
The unspooling of the seasons,
Maybe a kind reminder
That these are cherished moments
Rich and slow
With light still high in the sky,
Warm on bare shoulders,
No need to shrug and cover, yet.
Seeds and nuts are gathered and planted
So sensibly and easily
They do the right things,
So it seems.
 
I wonder what I have planted in the human way:
A word, a kindness, a kiss?
What have I brought down
And then raised up again?
I watch and wait
And wonder upwards
For the messages that are sent.