slightly tattered wings

grace a butterfly in my

slightly tattered world

imperfection is the key

to the door of creation

 

–photo by me

me and the old dog

on the porch doing nothing

but remembering–

remembering, that is,

how to be happy again

more modern mothers

turning to wicca mean less

goddesslessnesses

a movement more or less apt

for even gods have mothers

an overnight storm

whips up chaos and fury

and reminds us all

of the violence of war

on this memorial day

 

–photo by me

amid stormy lives

a door opens in heaven

and shows us the way

we can stand in the rain or

step into the divine light

 

–photo by me

my final sunset

will be someone’s first sunrise

at the same moment

i look at my grandchildren

and accept the grander scheme

 

–photo by me

orion hovers

over a vein of pure gold

in the black forest

out here I feel my spirit

out here I plumb my soul

 

–photo by my son, aaron

i’m walking to work

and now i don’t have to drive

to the gym either

when we simplify our lives

we may find that less is more

 

–computer art by me