Beautiful

Think of the hay bales in a browning field- but still green- under the rolling fog.  Heaven sun rays breaking through a grey cloud, hanging over oak studded hills.  The bay, white sails contrasting with the blue. The rust orange of the Golden Gate through the moon roof.  The moon hanging off balance in the black sky.  The stars at 3 am are the most beautiful.  An unusually incandescent tree in the projects, tubular golden flowers hanging luscious Green grapes on the vine, waiting to ripen.  My body ripening with them, watermelon belly.  Movement from within, a being waiting to be born.  The heat of my lover's hand.  A bird call through the window.  Different birds call at different times.  The mockingbird sings through the night.  An unknown caller sings "whoo" in a soft downward siren in the early dawn.  Chickadees and sparrows sing during the day.  The crow and blackbird come to drink from the fountain and eat bits scattered from the dog's bowl.  Cornmeal is stored in blue depression glass.  Some friends have faded in this great transition.  Some have failed to love.  Some have been erased from my world by the flame of their own passions.  Some are living on a shoe-string.  Some are stripping for a living. Some are fighters, some are lovers.  I am an observer.  I see olive trees glowing from my kitchen window.  I contemplate the quiet of domestic life.  I dream with my lover of being surrounded by occidental hills.  I preserve fresh things from the garden in glass jars.  I have newly learned what it means to grow green life from the soil.  Tea is my past-time now, tea and the simple miraculous pleasure of growing life.