It’s the hour of the dragonfly. Have you seen it? I have. It’s the hour when dragonflies wing their way in sparkling iridescence over baked green grass and sidewalks shimmering with heat. They land for brief moments before skimming onward, disturbed by my walking too near, or by some inscrutable shift in the thermal currents …
Not that long ago, this time of year would have meant research papers, recitals, and final exams. In that context during college, I penned the following poem, which I'm sharing now as a brief poetic tribute to the season and to those who are currently finishing it out. "Finals" Death by a thousand paper cuts,Hands …
The first lines of this poem came to me as I was driving home in the evening and saw a lone white tree flowering in the woods near the highway's edge. "Spring's Reprise" The wild fruit trees are white with spring;The redbuds are empurplingThe brown and green and grayOf winter’s gentle passing away. Spring but …
