For me, early awakening

does not point to

a precocious

awareness of

the depth, beauty, and meaning found

in all things each

day, though I wish

it did. Rather,

it means those mornings I open

my eyes at four

o’clock whether

I want to or not.

                                                                                JDG

I stopped by to thank the young man

who called to say

my sister had left

her purse behind.

He’d gone through the contacts on her

phone, hoping to

track her down. Touched

by his care and

honesty, I tried to give him

a small reward

which he refused.

Seeing my tears,

he said he’d take a hug instead.

His own sister

had taught him to

pay it forward.

                                                                             JDG

Today my thoughts turned to the past,

to a time when

I was often

scolded by my

mother for infractions both large

and small.  Grandpop

would invite me

to sit beside

him on the stoop, and tucking me

beneath his arm,

he’d say, as we

peered together

at the ground, ” Let’s just look at this,

Joanie.” Beyond

feeling accepted

and held, I have

no memory. I know only

that I felt safe

enough to look.

Now, years later,

I realize it’s no accident

that I came to

name this first blog

“A Holding Place”.

                                                         JDG

Out my way there’s a patch of land

where man passed through

leaving nothing

but brokenness.

A stark harvest of severed limbs

are scattered among

short, shattered trunks.

 But over time, vine

 by tiny vine, sprout by eager

sprout, leaf by bitty

leaf, nature reclaims

its ravaged land.

                                                            JDG

Once the fog cleared, the sun was there

to gladden my

rain-weary heart.

Often so quick

to caw complaints, the crows grow still,

dark wings shining

in the morning

sun. First one leaf,

then another drifts slowly to

the ground, reminding

me of nature’s

easy way with change.

                                                            JDG

It’s not only the destination 

that makes me content

as I head home.

It’s the very

road itself. Some days the way is

bright with setting

sun. On others

the way is dark,

lit only by the rising moon.

It’s never the same

road twice, but it

always takes me home.

                                                         JDG

When that woman blew her horn at

me, I blew mine

back angrily.

Even though it

was a brief exchange, the effects

still linger. When

will I ever

learn to pause and

breathe, giving myself and others

a reprieve from

spontaneous

combustions such as these?

                                                                 JDG

( This poetic form is longer than a minute because it took some time to bank the fire.)

I heard them before I saw them,

those Canada

geese, on their long

journey south.

How prudent of them to have left

while the going

was still good. Would

that we had been

as wise and not outstayed our season,

reluctant to

fly forth and find

a new horizon.

                                                JDG

A crow congress came cawing loud

complaints ’cause they’d

spotted some new

color among

the dogwood’s standard green. Last week

they protested

the smooth surface

of the just mowed

lawn. They take affront at every

change nature or

we bring, claiming

each to be obscene.

                                                     JDG