Slowly passing summer's beginning
never pausing or varying my track
Tilting more toward the sun
through the blackness of space
I travel the course without feeling
the only sense of where I am is by 
Following sunlight through windows

Stellar light is cast upon me
I bask in it's depth and warmth
All that is depends on my movement
Even as I appear to change course
back to the outer reaches of where I began
Unvarying, never pausing, always there 
As if I am spinning in deep grooves

July 1, 2010

DSS

End of the day's grind,
cool water relief .
Ache of muscle, knuckle and steel toed foot
carries a bent spine walk.
Tired knowing eyes stare down on the sweat dusted shirt that covers sunburned neck and arms 
Thinking of the day's earned pay and sandwich reward
and rest.
Calm, quiet ...... rest.

DSS

The knife of love cuts deep
It wounds to white bone
And drains life to the floor
Not easily dressed
slashed tendons
under loosely wrapped bandages
Bleed and so slowly heal

DSS 

The green of summer has turned brown
The dry of July is now moist again
and we are done.

The fair's stalls and booths are alive
and the displays of chalk and butter art are finished
To be judged by colored cloth ribbons.

DSS

Life is a whim of several billion cells to be you for a while.  ~Author Unknown

To that quote I add this.

As my cells group to make me who I am each day
I feed them, give them air, water, shelter and transportation
I am the vehicle for the DNA to satisfy their sexual urge to survive
I think I am in control
but really I am cursed to be at the whim of billions of cells.
And I think I am only as one, an island
As I care for my army of cells each day
I ignore their multitude and only think of me not we
I think I am coordinating my efforts
but I am only the result of their needs
Is it for my sanity or the need of the whole
that they allow me to think I have a soul?
Is that the false hope, the vapor that holds me together?

DSS

     The quiet morning's dog barks and bird songs are broken by the cranking whine, stuttered start and roar of 600 horsepower round engines. Two more spray planes take off to the south. From my window I watch the planes climb to only tree top height and disappear beyond the close horizon.
     Another early beginning to take advantage of the calm winds and light turbulence that will only last a precious few hours on hot summer days like these. What will be the enemy today, green bugs, broadleaves or grasshoppers? Miles away from here the planes will perform their low level ballet spreading their fog from one end of the fields to the other. At the end of each pass a short climb, a quick bank and a slow roll to an opposite turn. The chandelle complete, a dive over or under the power lines and aligned for another five foot high pass. The noise, precision and grace are spell binding and impossible to let pass without stopping to watch. Very beautiful, at least for ground bound pilots like me. Emptied, they will soon return to port.
     I will hear them first as they fly downwind directly over our house. The change of engine and prop pitch as they pass adds to the pulse of my chest. They must do this to tease me. Damn they've got to be having fun!

DSS

Earth rise on the hidden Moon,
only twenty four have ever been.
Never further from their homes,
the brave strong hearts of these worldly men.
They rode atop rockets high,
Shook and pushed by the loud engine's thrust.
In ships of thin metal sheets,
of the physical laws they'd trust.
These men who have sailed in space,
They had only one unquenching thirst.
To put their foot on Lunar rock,
Be the man to step upon it first.

DSS.

They come as birds,
Descending from the heights,
landing but briefly,
Only tied to earth by hunger and thirst.
They come panting and spent
They hunt for the new seeds
and the quick drink.
We must remain still as they search
They fly for the safety of the thin air at the slightest sound.

DSS

Pour upon pour the water runs.
Raised from deep aquifers of an ocean's width far below,
water gathered from slow flowing glaciers and northern winter snows,
drawn up sweet and ultraviolet blue.

Clear and cool and wet it flows..
Seeping between the brittle blades of dusty grass,
soaking deeply beneath the stolon's underbelly and awaking the June grubs.

The willow's shallow roots sip away the moist ooze,
filling its veins and leaves with green liquid being.

Black birds still search skyward for the long awaited rain.

DSS.