A bonded pair for life
Or so they say
This lends caution to my steps
Lest I SCARE them as I approach
This woodland STAGE where
A dance of life is taking SHAPE
Here in the dappled SHADE
I watch in awe as
Mourning doves bob their heads
Rituals of billing and cooing

Georg’ann

The tongue craves for STONE fruit.
Ripe and messy. Flesh both firm
and yielding, juice dripping.
Flavor and scent fill SPACE,
mindfulness inescapable.

The heart laments, around here
good fruit is rare.
No matter the grocer or farm stand.
Piece after piece selected with anticipation.
And again comes some mealy, stringy, flavorless ball.
It’s not worth the pursuit.
An expense to SHAVE off the list.

This summer I’ll sit in the SHADE,
My mouth filling with saliva
dreaming of the perfect peach,
a cool plum, or smooth nectarine.
My hands will not reach for reality.

Heather