Evening Air

Cool evening air 

brushed my hair 

caressed my face. 

Promised rain hesitated 

while I swept up 

deep red crisp leaves. 

“A perfect night….a perfect forever”

~ Mary E. Pearson,  The Kiss of Deception

A Fresher Touch

The land is watered from 

dawn to dusk and into the night.

If I close my eyes and listen 

I am on Vancouver Island, 

yet with a fresher touch of cool.

“Light - dews - breezes - bloom - and freshness; not one of which

 …has yet been perfected on the canvas of any painter in the world.”

~ John Constable, painter

(1776 - 1837)

Without Definition

Trust is without definition. 

It is the colour of water 

   in its vastness, 

iron grey ~

  troubled by rain clouds or 

clear blue ~ reflecting 

   sun and moving cloud, 

shades of green ~

   at the shoreline where trees 

  bend to caress the water,

~ or capped by lacy froth 

       on a windy day.

Our only definition grows 

  from the details of our lives

lessons from those we grew up with until 

  our own definition blossoms 

a definition that is confident and sure.

But trust remains without definition and 

  yet with a form we feel in our gut.

“To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. 

When you swim you don’t grab hold of the water, 

because if you do you will sink and drown. 

Instead you relax, and float.”

~ Alan Wilson Watts, British philosopher

(1915 - 1973)

An August Memory

 

Cool evening rain-washed air

Wind slowed to a whisper

Gentle remnants of a rainy day.

“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and 

the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.”

~ Sylvia Plath, poet

(1932 ~ 1963)

In-Between Time

There is an in-between speed 

that has no destination, 

  no timing, 

    no when to stop, 

  when to step on the gas, 

a strange and awkward place 

where imagination can roam free 

   to choose a book to read, 

     a walk to take, 

no sense of urgency 

until rain pours in violent torrents 

  when windows must be closed

drains cleared of dried flower petals. 

A stop and go time that fills 

once more with in-between time.

“Sometimes the space between knowing what to do 

and actually doing it is a very short walk. 

Other times it is an impossible expanse.”

 ~ David Levithan, author

Follow the Thunder

Out on the balcony where 

I could know the power of the storm, 

  smell the moist, soft rain, 

    feel cool air on my arms 

  hear thunder’s deep voice 

as it wandered away

I felt safe with my book 

 revelling in flashes of lightning 

seeing dripping trees hold their breath

 hearing the slush of traffic

 watching the tough, bulky clouds

as they followed the thunder.

“If I accept the sunshine and warmth, then 

I must also accept the thunder and lightning.”

~ Khalil Gibran

Storm: Refreshed

Thin morning clouds 

hovered and grew 

Thunder muttered 

Rain spattered then

poured in sheets

Fragments of blue sky 

peered through ~

gone in an instant

air fragrant with moisture

Evening clouds 

ride high and spent.

“I love the smell right after a storm.”

~ Elijah Wood

Storm

Clouds thick and lowering

Thunder rolling across the city

Flicker and flash of bright lightning

Trees lashed about by unruly winds

Rain bucketed straight down, 

    undeterred by wind

Drains stopped by stray leaves,

My red clogs splashed to clear them

   reached with a long poled squeegee

Tonight calm, damp and cool.

“I can hear your whisper and distant mutter. 

I can smell your damp on the breeze and

 in the sky I see the halo of your violence. 

Storm I know you are coming.”

~ Robert Fanney, 

(Author of science fiction and fantasy)

Vestiges of Yesterday's Storm

June 16, 2525

Today  

 Arrogant puffed up clouds 

  roamed the skies 

sunshine glanced 

  through 

patches of blue, 

 

Grey undersides 

  reminded

of their promise.

Vestiges of yesterday’s storm 

  wandered 

    gathered 

Rain splashes

   abruptly, 

at their whim.

Evening air 

  cold ~ damp 

refreshing

Even now

 thunder grumbles 

in the distance

“There is peace even in the storm.”

~ Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

Author’s note:  I did not get a photograph of today’s skies, 

but located this photo from June 16, 2025.

A Prairie Storm

Low, distant grumbling thunder wakened 

from a troubled sleep. 

Heard long before the wind 

raced through the trees 

flogging them with no regard

to the stately green giants.

Flashes of lightning flicker.

Rain flung at the world.

streets ran with icy water 

sloshed from the heavens.

Tiny hailstones raced

ahead of raindrops.

In an hour, 

exhaustion is all that’s left. 

The calm after the storm 

drips in the evening chill. 

“Nature makes no noise. The howling storm, 

the rustling leaves, the pattering rain are no disturbance, 

there is an essential and unexplored harmony in them.”

~ Henry David Thoreau

(Journal, 18 November 1837)

Brain Fog

It was clearer today 

as though a gust of wind 

had brushed aside 

gathering cobwebs ~ 

flinging them into 

muttering thunderclouds,

washing it clean in 

raindrops and cool air.

“Sometimes it all gets a little too much, but 

you gotta realize that soon the fog will clear up.”

~ Shawn Mendes, singer, song-writer