I am glad for the light drumming
of rain on the roof, and its gurgle
into the waiting tank,
and the softening and greening of the land
We slide across the equinox
as quickly as a cloud shadow
darkening the valley,
our urgent journey unaffected
by season’s change,
our sense of home
enhanced by it.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 21, 2022
September rides two horses,
one foot on the back of each,
reins held easy in one hand –
the horse of summer and the horse of fall –
they gallop down the days
in the same direction,
in perfect step,
manes and tails and breath mingling,
providing an exhilarating ride.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 8, 2022
The last glow of evening
marks high summer over,
though we will have more heat,
and the dry wind isn’t done blowing
through the trees and grasses,
but the loop of temperature
is entering its long ellipse again –
as soon as early evening,
open windows will cool the house
We feel the changes,
we feel the overarching calm,
and though there’s so much we’ve yet to master,
in yet another mode (for they are infinite)
hope will find its way to rise.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 6, 2022
Everyone sings of longer days –
the wheeling geese, perambulating turkeys,
two kinds of blackbirds in the pasture oak.
After dark, the frogs sing in the northern pond.
The ease we feel – it seems we all are led
to reach out and share it,
to make sure everyone enjoys
the coming light.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 3, 2022
Rain at night
is a fine coziness –
more so for its forbearance
through the day, for the unexpected sun
that came in with all kinds
of special effects, and all kinds of power
for batteries, and encouragement
for living things (like us)
getting ready for the short dark days.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 3, 2021
The sunlight glided beautiful
into the afternoon
which before was cloudy,
and it may have been my music
that made the cows come running –
in any case, I was delighted to be there,
the tones of my recorder clear
if sometimes hesitant
(me mostly avoiding forgotten high notes)
The deer also took notice,
though they swung a wide arc
around my sound,.heading in a line
farther up the field
And I thought the bluebirds noticed, too,
though maybe we were all doing
our own celebration
of one bright moment
in this October day.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 10, 2021
September ends. Early the morning
I saw the smile
of the waning crescent moon
above the hills, between the clouds,
promising a good day later
I went back to sleep.
The sun came up, and later
the clouds crowded in,
the wind came up, and then
the light rain
September ends,
drawing a shade of melancholy
across the evening.
October will have its own tale.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 30, 2021
This time of year the fir needles
provide a tranquil carpet –
if it is disturbed,
they quickly restore it,
as if nothing ever walked through here,
nothing ever scuffed its way
along some unthinking course –
Give it a day
and the vision of peace rests,
unforgettable, on the afternoon,
showing that everything has its own place,
everything falls according to plan.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 26, 2021
The little yellow flowers
that filled the field this morning
have almost all closed up by afternoon,
the clicking orange-winged grasshoppers
continue with their short and busy flights,
the tousled seed heads, dandelion-like,
shake in the wind and sometimes let seeds go
Here at the top of the heat arc of the day,
it could almost be summer,
except the breeze is cooler, kinder,
and there is moisture in the ground,
and there’s a poignancy
to the sharpness of the curve,
lending urgency to insects,
brightening colors by bending them down.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 24, 2021
Already the ice-tipped sky angels
have returned – they herald
the crisp edges of the days,
which we have both longed for and feared,
since, once the slide starts
towards the rainy season,
everything falls fast
We know the trees want it,
and the land. We want to be ready,
we want to ride the joy of it
all the way to cozy,
want our trees and ourselves
to make it through.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 13, 2021