WHITE sheets on the line —
They dance and wave on the breeze
Carry them in and bring the FRESH air along
Bedtime will come and sleepy child
HONES in on the smell, a sense of
place and belonging that
will last until she is an ASHEN heap
scattered on those same bright breezes

Georg’ann

Oh my friend, what would I tell
of this MONTH, blending
seamlessly from last to next.
Arbitrary to call these days
a collection. Fast the slog.
No heralding. No sad goodbye.
Though the sun was recently warm.
Black garden cat sat on stone,
glorious SHINE to his coat.
My own skin ASHEN.

Heather