Shade

Linger in the cool spots
when the late summer heat is turned up.

Crabapples

This is how they look to me.
tempting, delicious and just out of reach.

Dog Psalm #46

Grace is the shade and shelter of trees,

who know the secrets of a hundred years,

on this hot July day.

Upon a mushroom

the frog reigns over the side yard

with compassionate governance over weed, tree, flower and herb.

Hosting raindrops and dew drops for bird and insect and dog.

On Sunday Mountain

cotton candy snow covers the trees,

beneath the marshmallow snow

(so many, many kinds of snow)

walnut rocks are sprinkled across the landscape

and the road, with a melt, is soon to be a river of muddy chocolate

Oh my delicious Sunday Mountain.

The Sap is Rising

The heat from the energy of the trees

melts a little circle around the base of their trunks.

A sure sign that their sap is rising 

and Spring is on the way.

My sap rises for cookies and ball games.

Too Deep

Winter marches on 

 

 the snow is too deep for walks

 when I open my eyes

PLEASE let it be spring

White Christmas

A few days ago I passed by the Santa tree and
he said that I would get my wish.
It would be a white christmas.

I was tempted not to believe him.  But trees never lie.

 Overnight we got more than a foot

with drifts as high as three feet.

 

It's a winter wonderland!! 

 

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Do I look like Santa with my snow beard?
I feel like him full of good cheer and happiness.

Watchful Frogs

Inside the wrought iron gates of Gladys' Garden -

where dogs are not allowed

resides the watchful frog.

This place no longer is the wild and wondrous raven

Glady's Mom wrote about but it remains a paradise for all those

"working it out" on the East Side in Providence -

 

The mighty frog is as big as a tricycle

and as wise as a stately centurion elm.

The watchful frog oversees the swings and slide;
reminiscing with the remaining trees about the Barber Tree

and other dear friends gone, the many paths of life and

how they are paved with tiny moments strung together

on the fragile string of memory.

Be watchful.

Wise, if silent, teachers are everywhere.

Trees and statues are just two kinds.

They all want to share with you.

Fall Frolic

The sky can be so blue it almost hurts my eyes.

The autumn light is so incandescent it makes everything shine.

The wind inspires the leaves to dance and my paws to prance.

She says,

Play in the leaves all you like.

But PLEASE don't eat berries.

  

 I prefer acorns anyway. Better crunch and less barfing.

Magic Happens

The day before Hurricane Bill passed through town we went for an extra long walk.  Once things get torrential I can go days without going outside.  But I love a good pre-storm build up, and want to be out in it. I feel the momentum gathering inside me.  We left a note for who ever made the lovely Tabor Tree garden.  We left it in a zip lock bag, thumb (she did that part) tacked to the stump. 

So it wouldn't be blown or washed away. 

On Sunday, safe inside another bag we found   

 

  

How wonderous and wonderful!

How many others recognize?  

How could they not?

The flowers and the vases are changed often.  

It is such a dear and well tended place.  

This white vase is a mug that lost its handle 

and found a new and bigger purpose.

Gladys Potter and her parents are surely marveling at it.

We are.

Conversations with Trees

Every morning and night
I take a walk and talk with trees.
Over the past few weeks my conversation partners
have become fewer and fewer.
The bulk of many of my multi-ringed friends is now
waiting on the wood pile or pulp pile to do their next transformative service.







The dear "barber tree" by Gladys' children's park
tries to keep everyone's spirits up
by sprouting leaves even as part of her top rests by her side.
She said she knew this was coming.
She said they said she had rot and there was fear of disease.
She hopes because of her efforts they will let her stump, some part of her, stay.



She wants to remain a confidant and pillar of the community;
imagines she could be a toddler table worthy of their demands and efforts
or a handy stool for a child's devoted, beloved guardian;
paper on which someone learns to write
and in turn learns about the right to be.

Some lovely someone
celebrated one of the mighty Tabor Trees
with this beautiful garden.





So many shade giving friends
are no longer smiling down at us.

Yet, their rooty, remembering faces
keep watch of us now from the ground.



Looking up with recognition, wisdom, questions, hope

There are many young trees here too.
A century ago a woman who loved
left an endowment
to ensure the grove would grow.
Old trees would be nursed and taken care,
young trees would be planted and nurtured.
It remains hard to say goodbye to dear old friends
and it takes time to make new ones.



But there are new friends to make.
I am grateful to that woman
and for this place.

Sunday Dog Psalm #4

I speak the language of statues
I listen to the stories of trees
I see the glory of being

How can I show you?