To Christopher Robin When Winnie the Pooh and you walked all over the hundred-acre wood, his sniff, sniff, sniffing to find honey was on the money. I have not met a bear, anywhere who could compare to Pooh. How does he do it? His prowess to find a hive and dive deep into that golden […]
When baby sleeps; her bright head nodding on your shoulder, her hair gently tickling your neck and chin with downy feathers, her breath quick, then slow – a gentle in and out of a silent summer’s eve. Her baby sweat like dew on dawn’s meadow rises, filling your nostrils with its sweet smell
Hydrangea Still-life These Hydrangea on my table sit in pale pink and blue clusters; each four-petal flowerette its own song of compatibility. They crush together like people crowded on a rush-hour commuter bus. Freckles of flower sediment dust the chocolate table around the vase like powdered sugar sprinkled on brownies. The pale pink-to-green ribbon gathers
