Grit and Glory

I have to admit

growing old can be full of grit,

but today I choose to bask

in the glory of my morning walk.

First and foremost is the fact

 I’m still here and I can walk.

With my ground-sniffing companion, Knox,

I pass Bradford pears bursting with white. 

Their scattered petals remind me

I am a bride, married to this land and to this life.

Cardinals, blue jays,and birds whose names 

I don’t recall regale me with their song.

As the sun crests the horizon, I prepare

to renew my vows only to be interrupted

by the honking horn of a neighbor’s

teenage son who’s learning to drive –

a moment of glory for him

though much different from mine.



On Nature’s Stage

All through winter

and now into spring

that hydrangea, red-brown leaves,

blossoms beige, sang boldly

of faded glory. The leaves

were the first to go

leaving the blossoms to sing solo.

The blossoms’ song is finishing now,

and it won’t be long before a new song,

one celebrating unfolding green

and bridal white, will begin.


Good Morning, Knox

The air is filled with

bird chatter as Knox and I

begin our morning walk,

 but he’s not interested

in bird talk when the earth

swells with alluring smells.


There Are Days

There are days when

I don’t want to shift

and I definitely don’t want

to shift into gear.

On those days I prefer

to be sublimely shiftless.







the cats let me sleep, but

before long they were back again

beseeching me to feed them. 

Soon Knox joined them in their plea,

adding that, rain or not,

we needed to take a walk.

I don’t own them.

They own me.