summer becomes winter

she had sat 

a gentle honeyed lamp 

on the edge of her flower box, 

as was her way of welcome.

and the golden glow  

exhaled like a steaming pot 

of hot tea, beneath 

the prickly silhouettes of 

black branches and blossoms and leaves -

rather theatrically, I thought.

 

for a moment,  

it seemed to me,

there should have been snow flakes, 

falling on the last of the summer flowers, 

feathering the chilly air 

in white magic.

when suddenly, she appeared atop the stairs:  

a, somewhat quizzical, frosty specter
– luminous (almost) – 

in the amber entrance to the house;

clutching, oddly enough,
a winter white mango mousse,  

bejeweled in tropical fruit.

 photos: Lantern on the Flower Box and Tea and Mango Mousse – W. Bourke 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke

From the Gauzy Blue

Those mornings 
when I awake, sleepy still and uninspired
– spinning enigmatic cobweb thoughts  –
in the quieted house;

the languor shivers

and, for awhile, it seems,
the day is without purpose.

That is when,
I remind myself . . .

In the garden,
there is profound beauty
in the tiniest, most delicate flowers.

For often,
they flourish, there,
because they were nurtured –

fleetingly, perhaps, even,
a little absentmindedly,
but cared for, nonetheless,
consistently . . . and with intent.

And they are glorious –
every flower and every stem.

And in profusion:
they are glorious –
though, the blossoms are as tenuous,
as an inclination.

I rise, then – slowly,
from the gauzy blue vague of awakening . . .

gathering up, all my little bits and snippets –
on gossamer threads of resolve. 

photo:  In the Gauzy Blue (a photo taken on an outing with Diane when she visited Vancouver.  She did a lovely job, I think, capturing the delicate patterns in the tiny flora pictured here – a task that is not as easy as it might seem – as my attempt at the same flower patch made clear.) 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke

sun shower

the raindrops fell –

so slowly, on

the warm, contented day,

it was more refreshing

than if, there was

no rain at all –

to ease the weariness away.

drifting in white smoke clouds

on mirrors, luxuriously,

and yet:

the thought

– that any moment –

it could stop,

dripped upon

the perfect pleasance

in wistful beads

of wishing –

and regret.

note:  pictured is the Bloedel Conservatory (a domed, temperature-controlled environment, atop the City of Vancouver’s highest point, which is home to more than 100 free-flying exotic birds, 500 exotic plants and flowers, and koi fish) with the BC Coastal Mountains, in the background.  In the foreground is the “Dancing Waters” fountain.

photo: Heavenly Sun Shower – W. Bourke 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke

there were Adirondack chairs

there were Adirondack chairs

in our backyard 

and when we left,

I passed them along to my sister

and she scattered them, randomly, 

around the grounds

of the camp in Northern Ontario 

and when she sent me pictures

of how lovely they looked there . . .

I smiled: 

so comforting to think of them

ensconced serenely, holding my memories

- and new ones - through four seasons

season after season

year after year

in moss and colored leaves,

piled in snow shimmers - 

raindrops, plopping gently

on the green coat of paint 

I gave them,

to chip away time . . .

like tree rings

I remember eating raspberries

and sipping beer in those Adirondack chairs 

under a black velvet canopy

filled with spark pin points of stars

– so many and so close –

you could reach out and capture them 

in splayed fingers

I remember humming at the end of the evening

and, even now,

when it is time to put children to bed,

in wafts of summer’s end,

I hum to my grandchildren

and, for a moment, 

those Adirondack chairs,

come to mind – like faded photographs.

photo:  Adirondack Chairs – W. Bourke

© 2013 Wendy Bourke