Luna cat doesn’t carelaying lazy on his boxeye peeking out as I pass
I love that.
what livesat our house--the guitarsunder his fingersthe flutesunder my breath
“A Creative Life”Wife and two daughters, even the cat is a girlThey make things in their rooms, in the yard, in the kitchenThey make each other laugh andMake decisions that don’t seem all that important at the time, butYou never know.One of them made the other two, and that still amazes me.Not the cat.She just seems lonely, even with everything that’s going on.
Now that we are more inside than out,and more tense and more intense,our voices get louderespecially over the crossword, and politics.the black dog Luke doesn't like ithe plants his bony butt on my feetand stares below the table at Ross.Why me?
The Cricket Sings In March, when rain falls after sunset,she opens, just a crack, the window in the room behind us.It’s wood floors amplify the vibrant sound of raindrops falling,bringing our garden hope and a good soak.Then from the firewood stacked upon the hearth,a cricket crawls out from the bark and sings about the coming spring.And there it is, the sound of life in harmony.