A Fistful of Sky

Sometimes all I want is two armfuls of air, a fistful of sky. ~ Nina Kiriki Hoffman

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Photo by Richard Fogg

Claude the sparrow

F House Sparrow

Photo by Richard Fogg

This is the Song of the Bee

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Photo by Richard Fogg

Buzz! buzz! buzz!
This is the song of the bee.
His legs are of yellow;
A jolly, good fellow,
And yet a great worker is he.

Buzz! buzz! buzz!
From morning’s first light
Till the coming of night,
He’s singing and toiling
The summer day through.
Oh! we may get weary,
And think work is dreary;
‘Tis harder by far
To have nothing to do.
~ Marian Douglas.

All the thirsty world imploring

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Photo by Richard Fogg

Come and marvel at the sunset!
Lo—a storm is brooding near,—
All the thirsty world imploring,
In a mood akin to fear…

See the weirdly golden essence
Lurk along, the shades between,
‘Till it drowns and rolls above them
In triumphant glare of sheen.
~ Ruby Archer

The Forges of the Sunset

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Photo by Richard Fogg

My eyes dim for the skyline
Where purple peaks aspire,
And the forges of the sunset
Flare up in golden fire…

I cry for night-blue shadows
On plain and hill and dome—
The spell of old enchantments,
The sorcery of home.
~ Bliss Carman

Downy came and dwelt with me

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Photo by Richard Fogg

Downy came and dwelt with me,
Taught me hermit lore;
Drilled his cell in oaken tree
Near my cabin door.

Carved it deep and shaped it true
With his little bill;
Took no thought about the view,
Whether dale or hill.

Shook the chips upon the ground,
Careless who might see,
Hark! his hatchet’s muffled sound
Hewing in the tree.

Round his door as compass-mark,
True and smooth his wall;
Just a shadow on the bark
Points you to his hall.
~ John Burroughs

 

little birds

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Photo by Richard Fogg

 

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old
~ E. E. Cummings.

 

Got books? Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers

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A whisper of warmth

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Photo by Richard Fogg

The geese are finding their voices.
Broken cackles
on dark mornings.
A restlessness for the North.
And hidden shoots
unfurl in freedom.
Called into being
by a whisper of warmth.
The long night closes,
as a faint light
streaks the dawn.
And my broken voice
sings once more.
~ Lyn McCrave

 

Leaving in the water

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Photo by Richard Fogg

Mallards
leaving in the water
rippled sky
~ Penny Harter