Mother’s Day
One of those toad strangler storms. Can’t see. Lakes filling up on the front lawn. I’m swept into the bayou, in pajamas, a stick of balsa bobbing for help. Warnings
One of those toad strangler storms. Can’t see. Lakes filling up on the front lawn. I’m swept into the bayou, in pajamas, a stick of balsa bobbing for help. Warnings
and maybe it will be a promised land when values can run wild
 and trump the Trumps everywhere
City people, take notice. If you think country-living is laid back, easy-going, a ramble in the woods, you may be in for a surprise.
Finding a good hair stylist is almost as difficult as finding a good mate. Much of it is about chemistry.
For years I didn’t like either one of you, felt I was returning the favor— the baby, an annoyance, an inconvenience, the one you dragged on the subway to go
Violets getting pushy on front lawns. Redbud trees pink against winter’s bare branch. Irises swell in bed, such proud mamas. Butterweed give yellow a new name. Thatches of loblolly surround
															I invite you to my website.