Black and white in colors

In my blue shorts,

dancing curls around my face,

heavy, dust covered glasses, help

the world look sharper.

A horse drawn wagon,

A mountain of cut grass,

covered by a heap of kids.

My cousins and I,

 stretched all over,

freeing fluid streams,

 of overflowing  green, strands.

We struggle to stay on top,

 holding to each other,

exploding with pleasure.

Seven of us up there,

 all ages all sizes.

The warm sun

 stir up aromas,

of fragrant pasture,

horse sweat,

 and cows’ manure.

The horse moves restlessly,

raises clouds of gold specks.

A black and white old picture,

sizzling with colors,

Bursting with joy.

 

http://morningbrayfarm.com/2014/02/21/the-promise-of-things-to-come/

The promise of things to come

Pent-up anticipation in the still air,

swollen gray sky, hold my breath,

and they come, first one, then many,

dancing their way down, down,

 soft feathers from a torn puffed blanket.

 In the backyard, oak trees, dark silent giants,

 soon to be wrapped in a white cloud.

I marvel at the promise of things to come,

moment before the rising sun fills up the sky,

silky tones of pink and orange, sooth my heart.

Faint marking of a trail leading to a cliff,

 falling into the ocean abyss,

Forlorn fog- horn before the lighthouse is seen,

 riding up on a cliff.

Spring buds, their soft hues, unimposing,

slushy, earth with merely a promise of flowers,

 in the tiny green sprouts,

soon will explode into lush green, spectacular extravaganza,

The promise of things, the sweet pain of anticipation,

first smile, first word, first love,

my daughters, young women, now wives.

The puzzled look on the face of my grandchild celebrating,

old as time victory of her first step,

unstoppable, ready to take on the world.

I strive to slow time, the days that hurry one by one,

               to hold on to this beauty before it is gone.

the exhilarating, unbearable anticipation,

 so painful, so sweet.

First Step

Granddaughter

 Generations of upright posture,

rooted into her being,

thrusting her forward.

When she unfastened her hand,

from her mother’s

island of safety.

When she defies gravity,

for shaky equilibrium,

there is no way back.

Out of balance, off she goes,

wobbly but victorious.

Her first unsupported step,

as giant as the one on the moon.

She falls, she gets up,

she falls again,

picks herself up,

brushes away the hurt.

Under her crown of black curls,

tied up with a pink bow,

the look in her eyes,

changes from fear,

into wonder.

And the moment ,

her rising smile,

light up her face.

I wish I can store forever.