At day’s end

An evening like so many others,
too many passed to ever count,
pointing at the clouds that rib the sandy sky
in the blue and gold of end of day.

Too many passed to ever count,
the days we’ve shared, the nights,
and the different child hands that we’ve held,

pointing at the clouds that rib the sandy sky.
The ocean above we paddle, light as laughter,
sailing our full barque where songbirds flit

in the blue and gold at end of day,
apple light of moon and sun,
where evening’s done and all our dreams begun.

Room with a view

Lately, the weather has been wind, rain, storm, sun, repeat. From my desk, in the angle between two windows, I see the changing sky and how the wind and rain set the air in motion. Each evening, the wind drops, the sun comes out and I can hear the birds rather than the wind sighing. Straight ahead, I look west.

from west window.jpg

and over my left shoulder, I look out of the south-facing window.


from south window

and if I go to the south window and look right, this is what I see.


south window looking west.jpg

The sky and the trees are in constant movement, but I love the peace that falls at the end of the day.


calm as a still lake

at dusk when swans roost and

only nightingales

make the air tremble with

their ceaseless song



Night singing

It has rained almost all day. My pulled muscle is still killing me. This san san describes this evening.


Evening falls, dark hides the falling rain;

Nightingale still sings in rain-dark hedge

That drips and water-trickles as light fades.

Songs and rivulets of water-sound fall

Bright, though day has gone, feather-soft and sweet

As birdsong in the hedge, brushed and hushed by dusk.

Sing the night away, brown bird; let music rain

With evening hues to smudge the sky with dawn.