The wind has come to play among 

the trees and each

tree plays in its

own way. Some are

all aquiver  at wind’s slightest

touch while others

hardly move a limb,

and there are those

who give it all they’ve got, whose

trunks join in and

shift and sway to

wind’s every tune.

                                                                JDG

There they are on the dance floor, she

at five foot nine,

the tallest girl

in her sixth grade

class, and he, at four eleven,

the shortest boy,

both enjoying 

the music and 

each other.  I rejoice at their 

ease, innocence 

and pleasure.  I

know they’re still free.

                                                      JDG

The fog this morning brought bleak

beauty to the

start of day. Two

 black crows stood in

the mist, a stark  study in black 

and gray. Bare trees,

limbs outstretched, reached

to a pale white

sun for light as shadowy cars

cautiously crept

along highways

shrouded in haze.

                                                                 JDG

In the early morning quiet,

before dogs or

cats or kids or

sun arise, I

sit and savor lemon-ginger

tea.  For a while

it’s just silence,

me and lemon-

ginger tea.  Soon dogs and cats and

kids will  stir and

I’ll be left with

only the tea.

                                         JDG

In the midst of all the chatter,

I can turn to

breath and writing

and find refuge

there. Such a focus gives me space

to see what’s right

in front of me

and look past all

those running commentaries

hijacking me,

taking me for

a crazy ride.

                                                       JDG

Black cattle graze in the rolling

fields, a single

black dog saunters

toward home, and

my dark mood softens into grey,

then lifts with the

quiet and the

easy pace of 

all things slow, giving me a calm

and second start 

to what will be 

a busy day.

                                       JDG

As I passed by, some in the row

of crows turned and

looked my way, while

others didn’t

shift their gaze from what lay ahead.

The key must be

to know just when

you need to hold

your gaze and when you need to shift,

and when, as with

these crows,  it makes

no difference.

                                                         JDG

At day’s end I look back and see

what Zorba saw

and celebrates:

life in all its

glorious, full catastrophe.

Moments of joy

mix with flashes

of sorrow as

I stand, back pressed against life’s wall.

Why complain when

I can step forth

and start to dance? 

                                                          JDG

“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight”

is what they say,

but tonight’s sky

is pinkish grey.

Does this mean tomorrow’s delight

 will be of a

temperate kind, 

watered down to

a mere sigh of  “oh, okay” and 

not something that

overflows, filling

 both sails and us?

                                                                                   JDG