September for the Sycamores

    This morning the sycamores are peeling back their bark and revealing a dull white skin.  Above, their iron arms are stretched out with thousands of pallid green and scorched-tip leaves holding on. The foliage is still thick, and I can only see glimpses of the sun from the ground. Little by little, however,…

Braver Places (Memorial Day)

There are the times when someone makes a choice that lends to new places and responsibilities.  There is that persistent a sense of dread and excitement  that illicit itself all throughout the body, simultaneously.   Recently, I’ve been reserved to the idea of how change might work on my body, mind, and soul, but then…

Later Down the Road

Take the road Down to the end of the drive There’ll be an ivy-grown house where I know things keep slow   Where a kitchen settles for eggs and toast, And old news keeps the basement full,   Where the houseplants fill up the windowsills To watch the seasons change, singing mute songs   With…