Shriek of blue jays
and a good ole American crow
woke me on Labor Day
dropping the flag on next season.
I could cry.
It’s just too fast,
the passing of plays. Just unfair,
half-time of my half-century
arriving as I still resist adjusting.
Not ready yet for cheerleaders,
courting by a chorus of crows.

Flash 55 in the Imaginary Garden!


  1. Know what's unfair? My baby turns 21 tomorrow.. where did all her Septembers go? Boohoohooo...

    Your personal approach to the passing of the seasons, ties it to experience and is just all too sigh-worthy, dear friend.

  2. Sooo good, Marian. I'm well past that now, counting down instead of up.
    Problem, Dad lived to 97, the Internet predictors have me to 100. Either is fine, Dad lived a cleaner life than I. Right now my number is twelve, way below the other two numbers. Fifteen mught be too optimistic.
    Fifty-five or sixty more sound good for you.

  3. It does go fast, when we stop to notice. But then, we might also notice how full we've filled it. It must have been fun, or you wouldn't be wanting more! Meanwhile, I love the immediacy and descriptiveness of your writing – and all those birds.

  4. Growing up... it always goes fast if it's not yourself growing... and as soon as you say counting crows I have some wonderful songs playing.


Thank you for sharing your thoughts!