Presence 66

on a day
of nothing but blue skies
the swifts arrive

John Barlow

crimson moon
a wildfire takes hold
of the homestead

— Ron C. Moss

nearly winter
the unopened letter
from his father

Caroline Skanne

could compare with it
that christmas
the red toy sewing machine
with the silver wheel

— frances angela

The wee hours —
across the rug
a beetle crawls,
where are we going
you and I?

— Stuart Quine

To my Grandson

If one dull summer day you should find yourself in a melancholy mood, go for a walk through the meadow until you spot a green flat blade of tall grass with a sharp edge, and place it taut from the base of your hands between both thumbs, the tip reaching beyond the fingertips with palms touching. Find the gap between the thumbs, pucker your lips and blow with force, slow and steady until the blade quivers and sings.

the wind spoke
and the grass danced
song of the meadowlark 

Marilyn Fleming