Here there and back again the August moon captures the imagination with a wonder of where summer has gone. Some roses wilt as others bloom in a turning. The ridge is rich though some colors tend to fade a bit. Some flowers give way.
And wave faded color at day rather like a banner of light and joy.
If I could only find the sunflower.
Good night, God bless and as ever be well. Stephen Craig Rowe
On the eve of fall night light is damp with full clouds and a chill in the air. Some stars shine as others fade in the gray sky of night. Roses speak soft poetry and turn deaf gardens into light. Trees on the ridge thin as brush rustles in doe steps and tap dance of pattering rain. Perhaps a quiet turn of seasons or perhaps a turn of light twists dawn to day with recall of the father and all the poetry there is and was and ever be well.
On eve of solstice there is a heat in the air. A more than warm breeze. Recall poetry past
then write new words as they fall on the page in light and folds of the rose. There in a
moments bless green surges to twilight waiting for rain with one hand in the earth and one
hand in the stars. Wearing night like a crown she drapes my time around her. As ever be well
