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January morning
Warm as spring
But still no birds
Full moon past
Venus shines alone
In winter sky
All that glitters
Is not gold – in morning sun
A wet mound of poop
Eerie somehow to have 70-degree weather on the North Coast in mid-January. We’re accustomed to fog, cloudy gray days, rain and wind; instead we get day after day of warm sun, not a sign of rain as far as the eye or the forecasters can see. We enjoy the warmth but feel somehow uneasy.
One more winter day Of endless blue sky:
Drought’s spring disguise
One drawback of aging and being a late bloomer musically is that many of the people you’d like to have know about it have already passed on.
Sending my music
To those who’ve gone on
Wherever they may be
Six deer grazing
On the hill – the 2 youngest
Stage mock battles
Last night’s great wine
Doesn’t seem so wonderful
The morning after
Along the horizon
At ocean’s edge a single line
Of sunset gold
Once in a while
Even at our age
Moans of ecstasy!
One tiny boat
Out on the deepest blue
Labors northward
Morning sun
Meadow grasses
Shining
Hearing footsteps
Six deer stare
Big ears up
A few seabirds
Bob among kelp heads
Browsing for breakfast
Now that the sun’s
On the deck
Too hot to sit there
Last night’s fog
Left damp footprints
On roof and deck
Today’s alarm clock:
Some bird perched
Pecking stovepipe cap
(c) 2009 Bob Loomis
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