Hot Pink October

 

© 2023 Jennifer Wagner

It’s still a few weeks away from the yellow-gray of November.  And even further from here.  In the desert, the air has shifted to cooler—not 118, but now 80.  The heat is more of a hug than a grizzly’s maul.  The Valley of the Sun is not cool and dreary come autumn.  It’s a valley of a different color.  Kind color—sweet, perhaps.  And it feels more like the mountaintop.  After all, we survived summer. 

 

bougainvillea

a wave of color

at summer’s finish line

 

 

© 2023 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

dVerse Haibun Monday: Fall foliage or Spring blossoms

(I’m posting too late for the link.) 

OLN

Color Me

Photo © 2023 Jennifer Wagner

Unfold a whisper

held on your tongue—

it is sweetest released

on the curve of my ear—

your lips a light-touch paintbrush

coloring my skin.

 

And you will find me

folding

my hand into yours—

a canvas of two—

us blended,

entwined and unending.

 

© 2023 Jennifer Wagner

 

For dVerseQuadrille #186 - Fold

Reemerging

Every autumn—

apples in a bowl on the table.

Every winter—oranges.

 

Fresh, like this morning’s sun

spilling over

hot air balloons

hanging like pendulums

 

the way hummingbirds hover

over the lantanas

tormenting the cat

watching from the back door.

 

Every spring—

white blossoms in the bowl of your hand.

Every summer—rosa pie.

 

And yesterdays,

scattered like pistachio shells

littering the ground

like stones thrown

at no one

 

into the dark garden

of memory—

where all our scars

are hidden,

 

like cicadas,

finally settled

under the twinkling of stars,

 

but

silent

only for a while.

 

 

© 2023 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

Note: rosa pie is a reference to the artisan Rosa Pizza (red onion, Parmigiano Reggiano, rosemary, pistachios) at Pizzeria Bianco.