To paraphrase that old adage, “time flies”. Two years ago last week, I started blogging here at Word Press. The following is my first blog post. Blogging has enabled me to “meet” new people and forced me to write more poems with the consequence that within the next two months, my book of poetry will be published.
The canyon edge looms out my bedroom windows,
pale adobe, stark.
Fall to death or serious injury!
I will not fall; I love living on the edge.
Raing brings a one hundred foot deluge,
a wall of water, red adobe, cascading, screaming.
Someone said my house is pink; it is not pink:
cold of canyon, worldwide color,
Moroccan, pueblo, Saudi, Mali, Navaho, Timbuktu,
Desert, alive and lovely.
Three bucks watch me through my bedroom windows.
They see me move; they stare.
Isabella stands rigid, watching…what?
Bobcat casually climbs the canyon wall, impervious.
He marks the cedar tree, walks a deer path, disappears.
Secretive, rarely seen.
The huge hoot owl’s voice echoes down the canyon,
drifting into my dreams.
A young roadrunner calls, scatchy voice,
running across the patio–on the edge.
In the spring the mockingbird sings all night,
“This is my territory,”
I sing all year, full of joy.
I live in beauty on the rim.