My River

When the sun hits its body, it shimmers with glee,
And reflections of beauty abound.
All the trees so majestic stand tall in its mirrors,
While the leaves float in circles around.

The ducks quack hello to its welcoming arms,
While the fish swim where no one can see.
It ripples and waves to all passers-by,
Just as glorious and proud as can be.

It carries the boats in its strong steady current,
They glide on its surface like glass.
It splashes so playfully against the boats sides,
Then generously lets them all pass.

And in the heat of the day when we come to get cool,
It willingly offers relief.
It cocoons and caresses while we float in its lap,
As it helps us make fine memories.

But in the storms of the winter when it’s lonely and mean,
It rages against the gloom of the day.
It reaches with fury beyond its strong banks,
Frightening all nature and people away.

But no matter its mood, its beauty remains,
And it’s flowed through my life without end.
I love that great river with all of my heart,
My Comfort, my Constant, my Friend.

By Patricia Fleming

large river with trees on bank

Photo by the author

The Lovely Rain

I awake to the gloom of a cloud covered sky,
There’s a dampness that floats with the air.
A stillness and peace has enveloped my world,
And I don’t see a soul anywhere.

You can already smell the rain on the wind,
And a gentle pitter-patter has begun.
Even Nature retreats from the impending storm,
As the darkness surpasses the sun.

It feels like a spell has been cast over me,
As sleep overtakes me again.
I float on a dream filled with water and clouds,
Gently rocked by the rhythm of the rain.

But then I’m awakened by the echo of drops,
Growing larger and angrier now.
I watch as the trees bend beneath the wet weight,
And the leaves become glued to the ground.

In the puddles that grow from the unyielding stream,
You can see each drop ripple and plop.
And the tempo, like music, rises and falls,
Speeding up and then slowing to stop.

How I love that grand smell of clear water and earth,
And that sound that can calm any woe.
And the sight of the streets, abandoned and bleak,
While people sit cozy at home.

Though my moods melancholy and wistful,
It’s a feeling, familiar and safe.
It’s as if the grey rain grants permission for gloom,
Creating the right time and place.

I sit by the window with a good book in hand,
While drops splash against the wet pane.
A day to escape while the world is renewed,
By the wonder of the fresh, soaking rain.

As the dark of the evening begins to move in,
And the rain has now settled to mist.
The still swirling puddles and the soggy brown earth,
Give proof that the world has been kissed.

Perhaps it’s some need to withdraw and be sad,
And to let the world just float away.
But for me there is no better feeling,
Than being home on a dark, rainy day.

By Patricia Fleming

reflected image of photographer in pool

Photo by the author

Ode to Autumn

The endless green of summer,
Has turned to golds and reds,
While the leaves are all a flutter,
Making pillows for our heads.

The hot, aggressive summer sun,
Now hides behind the clouds,
Creating dreamlike shadows,
That reflects the world around.

The trees have changed their summer greens,
To the warmth of autumn hues,
And a chilly early morning frost,
Has replaced the summer dew.

The sound of weekend mowers,
And the sight of lawns so green,
Are echoes now of Autumn rakes,
And piles of aging leaves.

The whisper of the summer breeze,
Has reluctantly flown away,
As the stronger push of the Autumn wind,
Has defiantly taken its place.

And the happy mood of the summer sun,
Has weakened in its fight,
As the darker mood of Autumn,
Has coldly diminished its light.

And in the chill of the afternoon,
As the children play in the leaves,
The smell of fireplaces burning,
Give the promise of a cozy eve.

And you’re filled with anticipation,
For Pumpkins and Halloween,
For Hay Rides and Candy Apples,
And Ghostly sights to see.

Oh yes, the Fall is finally here,
And its glory fills your heart,
And you breathe that air so crisp and clear,
And pray that it never parts.

By Patricia Fleming

path through golden red trees

Photo by linux87