Category: Ronovan Writes

Monday morning runSlippery roads and windchillEven grace is frozen or Red-winged blackbird slipsa confident conk-la-reeMonday morning grace

Wintering overBlue jay or blue gill- life viewWintering under When you cross the streetRemember to look both waysHer tiny hand holding mineLife is dangerousSeasons stream like serenades

Each a tiny mythAshes fall as fire snowflakesSummer’s scent gone cold A cold openThis November unrehearsedThe script falls short

Breath blooms a puddleThis wet road has a storyThe rains of midnight Monday morning fogWet road, heavy legs, old shoesYet still the day blooms

Every spring my husband looks down at the young leaves pushing through the mulch and says, “Look at those weeds.” Every spring I answer, “Those are not weeds. They’re brown eyed Susans.” October daisyBeloved perennial A long term marriageThrough May mud or July dustWeeds are just an opinion