Free as a bird

I am a free spirit
I see the spirit in everything...
the cricketts sing, the church bells ring,

the wind blows, the truth knows,

I rise to the top like oil on water

I use negative thoughts as though it was fodder

I turn dirt into gold and never grow old,

my thoughts without limit...

Give me your peaceful spirit and I will give you a minute.

The leaves fall and are transformed into permanent shapes. They crispy up like fried chicken in hot lard. Their ends turn up or their sides turn down. Their crispiness sounds like tiny feet skittering along the roadway. The rain seems to soften them again and they clump up in the gutters and edges of roofs. They float from their perches on branches far above sliding from side to side like an amusement park ride. 
Appearing as feathers, when wet, stick to the first object in the way. Many leaves cling on into the late fall as though they cannot stand the thought of falling to the ground, or are unwilling to have their lives come to an end. Perhaps the leaves know that the tree will have to suffer the cold of winter with no blanket of leaves to protect and warm it. Maybe they are just too lazy to take the plunge. 
When all is said and done, we accept the leaves as they are: green, red, yellow, rust, brown or on the ground!

Feel the Fall rain

Barely perceptible, the rain gently fell like endless sheer curtains floating across the eyes. The mimosa leaves gently swayed with the weight of the droplets, caressing each one as they slid down the veins and captured their heart. Across the sky, the clouds wafted like cotton candy in the wind, offering sweet soft moisture with every movement. The drops gently touched the face and the exposed skin of arms still longing for sleeveless blouses and feet remembered the freedom of toes peeking out of sandals. One could walk through these sheets of tepid tea from the sky and never notice the joy of warm rain as the days turn to cool and the nights beckon to winter. But, don't! Stop, feel, love, sniff the air and find the way to paradise right here, right now.

A Bird's life, a moth's flight

Opening up the car window to let in the out,  I hear "kerflutter, kerflutt, kerflutter".  I look out.
A few feet in front of a bouncing, fluttering female Cardinale was a moth in the flight of its life.  The moth lifted up and down as he flurried across the black asphalt attempting not to become lunch.  And, when it veered off to the side of the road into the tall grass, it was like a cloak of invisibility.  The bird lifted his flight as though there had never been pursuit.  A day in the life.

The Road Traveled

The car bumps along the county road like it knows the way without me; and I look. Look at the creativity and industriousness of the people who live in the houses. They have been very busy, planting trees and flowers and tropical plants, banana trees, hanging ferns on the deck, stacking rocks, placing chairs and gnomes and flamingos in the just right spots. But, sometimes there's a renegade in the neighborhood, or perhaps just a forgotten pile of once useful equipment left to rust and become a gigantic flowerpot for vines and blossoms. Undaunted by lawn mowers, weed eaters and posing as a windshield, engine and front of that once proud workhorse of the farm or junk business.  It makes me laugh.

City Folks and Country Folks

Sitting on the curb drinking my can of soda, I observed. City folks and country folks think they are so different. They are really not. We all gas our cars, buy our groceries, feed our children, and cook our dinners. There are jealous men, and; women who stray from the path of rightousness. Hidden from view, the low branches obscure my prying eyes and ears. I hear a voice. It is a man, he curses loudly into his cell phone. This is the sound of a mistreated man. He advises his conversant that the back of his front will be HIS if he catches him with HER! These things happen in bustling cities and quiet country towns. The sound of jealousy and rage have all the same resonance and resolve. The car's engine reves reflecting his anger. I can see by the plastic covering the passenger window that life is not easy for him, and his voice leaves an impression on my mind. Country or city, life is not always kind.

The Two Chimes in Chatham

The ordinary sounds of the out of doors: birds chirping, breeze blowing, dogs barking, cars passing is interuped briefly by the age old tune of the chiming clock culminating in the sounding of the hours. But, wait, there's another one. It's about one minute slower than the first. My theory is that time lapses in the town of Chatham, a sleepy little place that exsists due to having the distinct honor of being the county seat. I read that it has held that status since 1777. I suppose it would be difficult for a clock to maintain its' integrity for that long. I found myself reliving the moment. How wonderful, I thought, I can relive the exact moment that the clock struck 2! It begs the question: has one clock gained time, or has one clock lost time? As I sit and ponder these moments that pass, I realize that I don't know where these chimes originate. There is Hargrave Military Academy and Chatham Hall School and there are more churches than you would think that a population of only 1,338 persons could support. Having only 2 square miles to call home, the clocks proudly chime hour after half hour reminding us of the passing of time and, yet, can only be heard if one is paying close attention.