Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure and visit Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect for Roundup.
Football season is here, which is happy-making in these parts. Some leaves are already turning, and the mornings air has dried and cooled—so we don't return from our walk quite so wet and bedraggled!
I'm learning in my gardening class that the reason so many of my plants don't thrive, is because I'm planting the wrong ones! (Our yard falls into the part-shade to all-shade categories.)
In art history we are studying ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome. I've had about 15 billion ideas for children's books!
And this is the weekend of my mom's big 75 party, so when you read this, I will likely be either baking a Coca-cola cake (one of my mom's favorites) OR...even better!... eating it!
My ArtSpeak: FOUR SEASONS poem for this week went through several metamorphoses before I landed with this poem that includes a mother, freedom, and some wistfulness, too. (Truly, I will be glad to leave behind the Summer poems and write some Fall ones. One more Summer poem to go!) Thank you for reading!
A Poppy Day
Mother says the poppy field
is more than just
it's a jungle of bees,
ants, and grasshoppers.
Explore, she urges.
But not too far.
She paces along the narrow
shadows on her face.
We buzz—drunk on heat
and freedom—fall into our lives,
a flurry of feet and secrets.
May we forever remember