These Hazy Days

Spiderwebs

misty morning

a melancholy of spiderwebs

against gray sheets, freshly turned down.

grass in my fingers that once felt your touch

snarled with wildflowers - early blooming.

it has been a warm spring, very warm,

but peaches can't grow in the north.

the dogs here eat from my hands,

and fields glow gold in the sun.

the spiders color intricate mandalas -

they all paint for a living, you see.

they are much poorer than we.

I take care I don't walk blindly

through their work.

I know how it feels to be torn.

I know how it feels to be tired,

and forced to start anew.

I've picked up the violin again,

and I'm remembering how to play.

I was never good at saying no -

I am trying to change my ways.