The pinballs shoots down the stairs

Flashing an aware smile

Her brown curls dance around her face. 

Like ballerinas on a stage

Like springs bouncing up and down

Your fur the color of orange cream intertwined with gold,

your radiant mane tinged with saffron billowing in the wind,

you are the mighty king of the savanna,

you are

prideful, regal, elegant.

In the dusk, winds blow, rustling the tree branches upon the trees. A forest opens into a wide field eventually leading to a small farm in a small town. But this town doesn't show up in this story. At least, not yet.

     The dogwood blooms later 
this year and marks the tardy rebirth 
of the earth, our home, beautifying 
after a dreadful winter purge. 

Who knew happiness

was something

to hold

A lonely palm

Happiness takes

Wraps itself

Into the embrace

Of your open self

My happiness

Holds me back

Spring is

taking your new wicker basket,

ambling through a thicket of trees

and reaching a grove of orchards

illuminated by patches of sunlight.

Spring is

shedding off your winter’s coat

The damp grass is shining like stars

Knowing that on it I will run far

Around the bushes around the trees

When the finish line is waiting for me

Did I know?

When I started to run on that track, hair whipping though my face,

Did I know?

That someday I would have a reputation for first place?

Did I know?

Her cream white color has started to fade,

Even for gold, she is something I wouldn’t trade.

Stitches burned away by the fire known as love, 

Crow, past my window, 
where do you fly to on this 
beautiful morning? 
Let us brew some mid-
day coffee and nightly tea. 
Bring me to your nest 
and hear the early 

The pages

of the old storybook

(you know the one, with its gilded cover depicting

the never-changing silvery palace

set against the sunset

I long to travel:
Wanderlust tugs at my soul.

Maine screams my name,
The ocean calls for its siren far away.

Salem calls me,
Whispering tales of young girls lost to time.