ROUND about now,
in the late afternoon,
the DRONE of machines
starts up. Lawn mowers,
leaf blowers, even
a chainsaw or two.
I continue silently planting,
content in the knowledge
that it is all part of the same
song: summer is on its way.

Georg’ann

Clichéd images, photo file within
White stucco HOUSE,
pots of herbs, planted bouquets.
Wide windows overlooking
olive GROVE, maybe citrus.
Beyond, just out of view, the sea.
Wood table, where I WROTE daily.
Penning thoughts in smooth loops
clicking the keyboard rhythmically
then stretches of silence
as thoughts gather.
What does a gathering
of thoughts look like?
New folder created, pinned.
Doesn’t matter about being BROKE.
Needs PRONE to being met.
Good fortune despite no fortune.
Embracing CRONE
that’s always been within.
See her looking out child’s eyes,
guardian, softly soothing.
Some days company comes.
We DRONE on about nothing,
which is everything.

Heather