Written and photographed by Joe Guastella
“So the seed falls to Earth
finds a resting place, waits-
to be eaten by birds?
choked by thorns?
or to fall on rocky ground,
Where even then,
the most tenacious urge
will send its root
Deep, into the very heart of the ledge
In search of water, food, life…”
Timeless moments of peace and wonder
Repeat in the blue of sky
the brown of earth.
A whisper of warm wind
hiding from the fact of winter
from the shrinking light of days
waits for nothing
but another moment…
A parade of November mallards
chatting with neighbors
in no particular hurry
led by flamboyant males
in iridescent headdress
with bright white collars
waddle pretentiously
in single file
across the road
in front of impatient drivers
who wait nonetheless
watching the procession
from pond’s edge
to evergreen shelter
on the day of the dead…
In the late sky appears
A rosy-fingered, fleeting likeness
A reminder of Dawn
Her promise of rescue
From the loneliness of night
Yet to come;
When there will splash across
The canvas of twilit morn
Colors of a brand new day.
Evening pastel clouds patiently
Reflect on heaven’s brilliance
Sail across awareness
Alongside birds careening
Wild in the wind as November
Draws to a cloudy close,
With one last moment of rest
Upon the distant line where
Earth becomes air, where embers of daylight
Glow warmly with tomorrow’s hope
Fade upward, older, farther away
Until the mantle of darkness sinks
Covers all, reveals its emptiness.
