Natural Histories I
Credo
I feel about the universe
as Abrahamics are supposed
to feel about their Yahweh,
their God, and their Allah:
I am in fear, I am in awe,
I am in love.
Managing the Air
Five round sparrows,
fat little fluff balls,
sun themselves this
January morning then
flit into the air
suddenly
sleek.
Gloria
No snow cracks
the branches of our Red Oak tree
No ice coats
our streets with deadly glare
No hot wind
dries our downslope trees and grass to tinder
No brute sheets
of rain undermine our hillside soil
We breathe a gentle wind
and feel on unchafed cheeks a gentle sun
this glorious January day
so much like April
wrens and sparrows chirp their glorias
from stark silver branches
north, south, east, and west
and fill the house with song
through every opened window sash.
Challenging the Texas Winter Sky
No snow except a flurry
thick enough to glaze
the concrete muddy gray.
The damp cold
just chills bone
by finding spots
where cloth fails.
Precocious daffodils
erect themselves as bait-
a green challenge
for February skies to send
their white and silver edits of
the gray/brown scratch-work
this prairie has become.
I feel about the universe
as Abrahamics are supposed
to feel about their Yahweh,
their God, and their Allah:
I am in fear, I am in awe,
I am in love.
Managing the Air
Five round sparrows,
fat little fluff balls,
sun themselves this
January morning then
flit into the air
suddenly
sleek.
Gloria
No snow cracks
the branches of our Red Oak tree
No ice coats
our streets with deadly glare
No hot wind
dries our downslope trees and grass to tinder
No brute sheets
of rain undermine our hillside soil
We breathe a gentle wind
and feel on unchafed cheeks a gentle sun
this glorious January day
so much like April
wrens and sparrows chirp their glorias
from stark silver branches
north, south, east, and west
and fill the house with song
through every opened window sash.
Challenging the Texas Winter Sky
No snow except a flurry
thick enough to glaze
the concrete muddy gray.
The damp cold
just chills bone
by finding spots
where cloth fails.
Precocious daffodils
erect themselves as bait-
a green challenge
for February skies to send
their white and silver edits of
the gray/brown scratch-work
this prairie has become.
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Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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All of these work well and remind me of more seasonal places than here.
I like the quiet, respectful tone of each of these. "I am in fear,
I am in awe, I am in love."
This is a good suite. Their connections have a light touch and work well. The imagery - as in Gloria & Managing the Air - is effective. Good phrasings throughout, Gary. *
Thank you, Steve, for reminding me that we do at least have a semblance of seasonality here. Sometimes it just seems like we have summer and everything else sort of smeared together.
Thank you very much, Gary, for reading and remarking.
Thank you, Sam. As always, I am grateful to you.