Old, Yes

But neither down, nor out. This old girl flew from me each time I approached.

So much to like about insects.






In this case, 
aging gracefully.

Weather Readings

I
The cats are no fools. They bedded themselves in their plush doughtnuts as soon as they rose from my own bed. All day, they have slept, barely repositioning or peeking.

They know weather.

No sunny spot to stretch across, no open door to deck, no birds to draw them -- jaws chattering -- to the windows.

This cold gray day after several sunny warmer ones hibernates them again.

Not to worry I assure them. These are the death throes of winter.

II
as people winter,
skin thins
when bruised or punctured
failing to hold within
the vitals
and skin dries
leaking out
what was once within
hiding less
revealing more
veins thin rills of blue

IV
The daffodil, in its last throes like winter, shows its linear skeleton.

 

III
Some people read weather, not for the sake of prediction but for the sake of creation. Artist Natalie Miebach collects data and weaves fantastical storms, sometimes composes in musical form.

IV
This is my kind weather, especially on a day like today.

At the Halls

like old friends,
daffodils --
veined, thinning --
grow still
more beautiful 
& vibrant 
even as they
age, nod, & fall
over the lip
of vase.