in the rain-streaked golden light
a butterfly was dancing,
wing-tips spilling sunlight
into the citrus sting of bitter-sweet
rippling along the jet stream.
Did it sense the fragrance
still wafting from the open greenhouse
door, that heady scent of leaf and fruit?
The swallows have left already,
waved farewell to summer’s short sojourn,
swooping to the edge of day, the wind
rising now at dawn. But what is left is this:
nights of stars, an orange glow,
the slow drift of firewood smoke –
and the music playing inside of us,
fierce enough to fade, stir again.
Copyright 2012 Louise Hastings
Shot in Nyköping (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
dreams in images of hope.
A blue moon shines
upon a ruffled bed
under stars, the milky way
and night, bathes
the county’s roofs,
tree-lined hills and bends.
The hour fades,
leaves still green
turn to gold and tangerine.
A curtain blows,
hustles in a grainy dawn.
Above, the swallows congregate,
announce years end
in the hazy gap
between wakefulness and sleep.
© 2012 Louise Hastings
Love me, love me not?
swirl in autumn mists.
Love beyond language,
tastes of autumn leaves
linger in his kiss.
in the restless undertow.
Won’t watch the crows
or the curve of their slow flight.
This is when the change came;
the snow held me in her drifts.