Time out

A coffee shop morning, just a short break.
In a rush of errands time to take
A few minutes, half an hour,
From the lists which fill all our
Lives on the run.

Time to stop and hear the chatter,
The milk steamed and the clatter
Of dishes and cups.  Before setting out
To start the engine, fill the cart, dash about
Life's busy roads.

Not following the map

A stroll through a museum on a fall afternoon.
Grabbing a guide and a map but finding soon
That the best strategy is to simply get lost.
Passing by paintings that have been tossed
With a practiced hand onto a wall.

By walking along unfamiliar halls
The viewer stops at something new, and stalls
At one painting, one sculpture, one specially carved chair
That otherwise she wouldn't have known was there
If she followed the map.

Calendars

My calendar of empty time
Stares back at me to urge a whine.
Instead I gather contacts, notes, events,
Make a pile to fill a tent.
And fill those little boxes.

Life happens to us, but we can choose
To focus more on what we gain not what we lose.
Choices to fill our lives with experiences good
So that when experiences bad should
Happen we can pass through and not be stopped.

Beach Walk

It's Indian Summer, time again to walk along the beach.
Leaves finally turning brown, but still it's not a reach
To cast off the jacket, slip on tanning lotion. 
Sunlight scattering on the chop of the ocean.
Ah, the salty smell.

Walkers stroll, joggers puff, sitters close their eyes.
Soaking in that sunshine, knowing what lies
Beyond the next forecast.  But for now
Crowds gather by the beach, imagining how
To store this memory through winter.

Sunday Afternoon

Sunny Sunday afternoon curled on the couch.
Pile of books, TV remote and me in a slouch.
Day of rest and an afternoon catnap.
Leftovers for dinner, ready in a snap.
Just the day.

Bring on the lists and calendar tomorrow.
This afternoon's bright sun derserves a wallow.
Burrow in with pillows, light a candle.
Such luxurious laziness is almost a scandle.
But I'll stay

The Ticking of the Clock

Evening time, quiet time, the ticking of the clock.
Oustide the windows, red clouds block
The setting of the sun. Turn on the light
In cozy rooms filled with the day's clutter.  Bright
Lamps dispel the growing dark.

Night descends with softly padding feet.
Inside it's warm as day yet not the time to make neat
What's been left behind.  Time to rest,
Restore and burrow in the nest.
While outside the sky dims.

Early morning

Early morning meeting, up before the sun.
Unfamiliar territory, especially for one
Used to long and lazy risings, slow
Wakenings, no immediate urge to go.
Rushing as a treat, not a chore.

Moving quickly, breakfast, shower, dressing.
Hitting the streets with school buses testing
My patience.  Coffee, donuts, conversation
Accompany business plans, needs to mention
Agendas and what came before.

Blue Skies

The bright crispness of a fall day.
Crystal blue skies and no wind to sway
The remaining red and gold leaves.
The bright sunlight is a tease,
A shimmer, a memory of summer.

Today is a chance for an outside walk,
Before chilling breezes and gloomy skies put a lock
To ventures outdoors.  But those forecasts are for some tomorrow.
Today our feet are prompted to follow
Blue skies, bright sun that beckon with a curved finger.

November

November brings a quiet time of year.
A time to Fall; leaves, light, and endings near.
Windows close against the chill, and sounds
Become muffled.  Within the bounds
Of shadowed rooms we become
Light deprived. 
We rise a little higher each day the sun appears.
We sigh a little more as autumnal gloom nears.
The world lays down and settles for its rest.
For our souls and minds it is a test.
We too turn inward.