Frogs and Ravens

Summer

Cicadas singing tonight.

Late Indiana Spring

Fireflies slowly blinking

The scent of mud and roses

Daylilies, orange, yellow, wild.

After the Storm

Today is punctuated by the sounds of dripping melt water, the chopping of shovels and chisels, the tinkle of breaking icicles, and the squeals of cars struggling to free themselves from the ice. 

Frozen Poplar

My car, parked at the base of the old poplar tree, is surrounded by a nest of small, ice-glazed sticks. 

Ice Storm

A glaze of ice over everything, then a layer of tiny ice balls atop that.  A sparrow attempting to land on the feeder wipes out.  Even the grass is too slick to dare a crossing.  The ice pellets hiss down, literal white noise.

Stormfront

There are traffic jams

in the aisles,

Toilet paper pile-ups

and collisions of groceries;

The carts accumulate in drifts outside.

There are no more candles, nor deicer.

The shelves are swept clean

by the coming storm.

 

Old Mother Hubbard

The light in the refrigerator is brighter when the shelves are nearly empty.  My eyes appreciate it, but my stomach does not.

Obssession

Ferreting around in the depths of the internet, tranced in a researcher's fugue, I gradually realize:  I need to pee.

Cozy

My wool-covered lap is a mountain the cat is determined to climb.  She makes repeated attempts to nest, despite it being occupied by book, laptop, and notebook.  Eventually she settles next to me, a round black loaf of resigned feline disappointment.

Bedtime

The cat is ruffled with indignation; I am up later than she would prefer.