Last Day of This June

 

Days of summer spool out across June.

Book in hand, icy tea glass at elbow;

I hear July knocking at the door.

 

 

 

The first third of summer fades with today. We have had it all this month. Storms, heat, sunshine, rain...pain, death, illness...joy, blessings, laughter.

Unbelievable cool came in last night and this morning it was 60 degrees on the deck first thing. Out came the tea pot and cinnamon orange tea! Grand dog Storm and I headed out early so as to not miss a moment of the morning beauty.

 

Cottonwood leaves whisper under gauzy clouds,
Song birds sing greeting songs,
Tea leaves unfurl in china cup,
Morning is welcomed!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The summer issue of SEK Living is out now and I have a poem on its pages. This magazine celebrates the little corner of Kansas where it is hard to find page burning items to print. But the young and  enthusiastic editor is working hard trying to make the pages compete with the Big Boy Press, and it shows. Kimber is finding all kinds of things to celebrate and history to study. Sometimes we have to take the small things and look at them deeply to find new and interesting details. The pages in the magazine are lovely with outstanding photographs too. Try it; you will like it!

 

Going to Wichita

Wheels rolling to Wichita

We pass fields of thumb-sized corn.

Two leaves, like moth wings on each plant,

Flutter in hot breeze, begging for moisture.

As we cross the state line,

Fields become green, vibrant as funeral grass.

Spring wheat of Kansas promises good yield-

If rain comes soon.

 

The ribbon of road pulls us into the Flint Hills;

We face a sherbet sunset, apricot and raspberry,

While traversing land undulating like a rocking sea.

Brown stalks of prairie grass, stiff as goat hairs,

Winterized and dry stand on the shoulders.  

 

Small fires intermittently smudge the horizon,

Ranchers burn off winter, making way for spring.

Barbed wired fences, tightened like braces on teeth,

Stretch between Osage Orange fence posts

Or limestone pillars dug out of the plains.

 

Ponds are half normal size, look thirsty for rain.

Creeks barely flow, exposing flat rocks in their banks

Precision-layered like artichoke leaves.

A few wildflowers interrupt the harmonious hues

With neon shades of Oz yellows and blues,

 

While hills and washes lift and fall,

Working Midwestern soil same as centuries ago,

New highways move through the landscape,

Skipping business districts and neighborhoods,

Now making some ghost towns.

 

Eternal land leans out effortlessly

To meet the edge of sky.

A drive across this ground comforts.

Wipes away stress, calms heart beats,

Synchronizes our inner rhythms with nurturing prairie.

 

 

I got a call last night from and editor wanting to use my story "Rabbit Hunting". This was great news, and I love being published in Rosebud as I am in great writing company there!

 

So now on with July, wondering what surprises and shocks it will hold for us. There is no way but forward to find out!

 

"In the novel you get the journey. In a poem you get the arrival."  May Sarton, poet

 

"When you put down the good things you ought to have done, and leave out the bad things you did do, that's memoirs."  Will Rogers, humorist