Page 74 - WCM 2021 Winter
P. 74

The skip and flip of the leaf golden then green as it’s tossed by the wind in front of the low afternoon sun.
A scent of smoke once redolent of grilling meat, now hints of woodstove, whispers
of change coming.
A chipmunk scurries ~ stops ~ scurries again; tail twitching
mouthful of acorns looking for
his larder.
The tomato plant’s leaves
now yellowed and brown
fruit peeking out between the dense branches hints of red, gold and green treasure beneath.
A sense of contentment settles my soul in the subtle shifting
of the season,
a harbinger of what is to come.
Be Kind
Prejudice is viewing another as other,
bedeviled by the differences and familiar with our own. The race we would gather will honor our one mother.
My heart is with you,
all hope that dwells within.
Hear you cry, a mountain roars. Spring waters, the oceans’ source, rapids rafted together,
say, My heart is yours.
Eric Dibner
Claire Sessions
Harvest Moon
Oh, the moon, moon, the heavy harvest moon
dives into the clouds like a wild laughing loon.
He floats like a ghost or a shadowy balloon.
He stares like an eye in a scary white cartoon.
He glides upon the mist like a marshmallow schooner
and makes me wish I’d noticed him a little bit sooner.
He hides like a monster in the Midnight Lagoon. He huddles like a moth in an indigo cocoon.
He’s a baker with an apron and a silver tablespoon measuring the stars for a luna macaroon.
He’s the sun’s night lover on an endless honeymoon,
as they play upon a flute and sorrowful bassoon.
Oh, the moon, moon, the huge harvest moon rises in the clouds like a wild wet loon.
Lisa Moore
Arts, Entertainment, Adventure and More in Western Maine

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