Covered by tarps, boats are at dock.

No traffic on the river, everything at lock

Down, slowed by December's slow rhythmic turns.

Just sunlight on the water, and lone birds

Passing high overhead.

All's quiet on the Charles this afternoon.

No sailboats or rowers, no synchronized crews' tune.

Winter sun reflects on water, on skyscrapers along the shore.

The river flows, following hope to a far off door

Heading to spring.





Willows

A December afternoon, a chilly walk
Through willow trees.  A time to take stock
Of the year's passing.  Time winding down,
Months thrown around like leaves on the ground.
Few days are left on the calendar.

Summer busy walkways, empty of feet.
Just sunlight and seashore, a treat
To be savored before true winter sets in.
A new year is coming, the old one has been
Tossed away to memory.

Short days' rewards

Sunset is coming sooner, sooner.
Days are shorter, time turns lunar
Rather than solar.  But the sun
In contrast to the night to come
Blasts through my windows.

Night comes early, then stays late.
Dawn is tardy and I wake
A little later.  But come the day
And sunshine makes its way
Splashing across my floor.

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.