the sun unraveled, spooled itself into the Sound as if it needed something to fall into at the last I imagine startled fish - their silver suddenly gold, a splash of unexpected flash © Sarah Whiteley
the last evening in May and the dogs are still, stretched beside the window as still as the trees whose wind momentarily has no urge to prove itself the light nearly gone, still there is a lone hummingbird in the plum and two house finches … Continue reading last evening in May
tonight the sun thought to slip away - secret, unnoticed - but has instead become tangled in the branches of the plum which sways as close to the glow as it might manage - in just the same way I once crossed a kitchen floor … Continue reading tangled
last night, the trees stood up and proclaimed their poetry to one another something in the twilight inspired them, though not everyone paused to hear it but I and the day's last robin halted our respective routines to acknowledge what was clearly extraordinary © Sarah … Continue reading last night, the trees
I am transfixed by the kiss of sickle moon to black pine against infinite ink of sky © Sarah Whiteley Anyone else catch that large and glorious crescent moon in the sky a few nights ago? So beautiful!
let this be be the color of the sky - shades of rain and chicory and cloud shadow slants on broken-stalked plain weathered white porch eaves where the speckle-winged moths flit on evening's brim with the last long curls of the iris slowly fading from … Continue reading color study – sky
tonight I and the quiet make a companion of the rain whose soft staccato taps at the window as if asking to be let in this - the first silence in weeks - is as welcome now as any old friend or comfortable shoe we … Continue reading old friend