Fall Hangs On It’s Arbor On The Door Of Winter by Stephen Craig Rowe

Fall hangs on it’s arbor as the last leaves are fallen, raked, burned and turned to ash. Yet some leaves are free to skitch streets,
swirl in winds and scratch windows
With fingers of old ghosts in the hand
of swaying tree branches.
Day goes dark before it’s time is taken
drawing sweet sunset all pastel pale bright and wanting in the gloaming
as sky turns cold and clear.
Bring in some of the outdoors with trees and light.
Warm the kitchen, take care of you and yours. 
Fall hangs on it’s arbor on the door of winter as
Liberty and Dragon dance eternal hand in arm in hand.
And Spirits of Indians dance in the wind.  As ever be well,
Stephen Craig Rowe

PAINTING STUDIO Thanksgiving Post by Stephen Craig Rowe

 

The other day there were some birds in the yard.  Rather large birds and I did not choose to go out and play with them.  Instead the camera was at hand and was able to capture a couple out of focus images of the wild turkeys.  Last fall nearly thirty of these birds graced the internationally famous ridge behind the house and did a turkey trot to where ever wild turkeys go.  Some flew and some walked the turkey trot.

    This Thanksgiving my thoughts are not about birds or turkeys.  My thoughts are of family and friends, love and care.  Where and how are you? 

     I am fine thank you for being who you are.

As ever be well, Stephen Craig Rowe

Painting Studio Veterans Day, 2011 by Stephen Craig Rowe

Been in and out of VA hospitals for a number of  years to my advantage.  Thanks be to those who serve.

My father, grand fathers, and my son Adam.   

All who serve in the military, have served now and then, in the private sector as well.  The first responders when one needs them most.  Thank you all for your service.

As ever be well

 

Painting Studio Walking The Rain By Stephen Craig Rowe

Walking rain
November drizzle wept damp gray

sky all

the day and night.

Fog longing soft shadows
nearly apeare

then whisp away wrapped

in a cloak of swirling

leaves as an

old ghost whould seem to be,

and then not. 

Mind your step the walk is slick, take my arm and take care.

It is so quiet in the fog and drizzle she said.

The fallen leaves have a unique scent this time of year.  Or is it just this night?

Perhaps.

The lamp post glowed as the last roses faded in the fog and the rains came.

As ever be well,  Stephen Craig Rowe

Painting Studio Raining Roses In November by Stephen Craig Rowe

The night seemed to rain roses of November if only in dreams as I lay down the garden for winter with poetry, grace and thoughts of poetry and grace.
In a space between the words where poetry is spoken quiet and near light.  Where space is only as deep as one makes it.
How can it rain roses?  She asked.
Just because it does in poetry.
Rather like walking knee deep in rose petals and
being there, here, the dream and reality all at once. 
Did you see the pale sunset through the trees on the ridge tonight and how the colors went gold in turning to purple and soft pink against the blue sky where no camera could capture the image?
Only the words rained roses.
Saints smiled and slept in sacred dreams
as Liberty and Dragon dance eternal,
hand in arm in hand, forever.  As the night rains roses and poetry is ever spoken quiet and near light.  As ever be well,  Stephen Craig Rowe

Walking The Stars

Do you recall when we were walking the stars?
I think we were watching the stars while in a taxi passing over the bridge.  It was a bit late.
With some frost and rain on the window.
You were tracing drops as they ran with a slender finger up and down to the up and down
as the rain came.
You made a funny face and we laughed walking in the stars.
As ever be well

Painting Studio All Saints Day Thank You For The Rose by Stephen Craig Rowe

Are you sure that all of the Saints were in your dreams?

No, I only pray for them.  She looked at her hands, shook her head and said.

Thank you for the rose.

As she spoke I took a drink and my thoughts were of the garden for a moment and of all the Saints.  The half moon rising above the Painting Studio this first day of November.  Then my thoughts turned into the folds of the rose and time spent in the garden this afternoon.

Are you still with me?

Yes, was just thinking about the last roses, fall, stuff like that and all of the Saints.

Are they with you?  Or what?  She said and,

I don’t know

So much of it is like poetry, grace and a song half sung

Walking is healing.  Walking with you and the roses is sweet.

Thank you for the rose.

Thank you. 

I took to the garden and the ridge free and alone for a talk with all of the Saints and a prayer on the first day of November.  As ever be well