Enormous Changes at the Last Minute


Suzanne McDermott
Backyard, 2006, Watercolor

“There is a long time in me between knowing and telling.”
― Grace Paley, Enormous Changes at the Last Minute



What is happening

There is no question about it.
​Some changes are predictable,
Expected.
Sumer, Fall, Winter, Spring,
with plenty of time to
turn, turn, turn.

Lately, though, change arrives in a flash.
A drop dead, earthquake, bomb of a moment.
Crash.
If you're still upright,
the resonance alone is enough to knock you down.

Time stands
Still we keep revolving around the sun,
the moon orbits
and breezes sweep us up with their
demanding, obligating pals:

Sleep
Wake
Eat
Wash

While exploding now onto
new playing fields we did not imagine.
Why would we?

Just last year, (or was it the year before?)
There was only fall around the corner
coming with dry, bright leaves,
crisp, fireplace air,
fleecy sleeves and scarves,
more moisturizer.


—Suzanne McDermott
21 September 2017

©2017 Suzanne McDermott/All Rights Reserved

Straighten Up and Fly Right


As I was thinking about tonight's full moon (technically, tomorrow morning at 3:02 am), I could not get this song title out of my head.
The general consensus in the astrology world seems to be that this a) this is a good time to clean up and clear clutter out (Straighten Up!) and b) it's an auspicious time to buckle down, focus on, and do exactly what needs to be done for important long term project (Fly Right!).
It's always a good time to clean and de-clutter and I must be in alignment with the moon as I am as buckled down, focused and hammering away at a long-term project. You?
As for the song title, I looked it up and did not know that Nat King Cole wrote the song with Irving Mills (the publisher, et al) and that it's "based on a black folk tale that Cole's father had used as a theme for one of his sermons." (I love Wikipedia.)
I have to get back now to buckling down and flying right... 

The last days of white linen



The last days of white linen

The last days of white linen,
of wide brimmed hats
slanted against the sun,
stroll into the long weekend bookend of summer—
Toes in salt water and sand (if you’re lucky).

The last days of white linen
flap against still summer breezes and
wrinkle into sun-kissed skin
lined with all of the preceding seasons of stories
and marbled with yumminess, forgiven in the moment.

The last days of white linen
whisper of gentle folding and tucking away
with trust in the future.

This will be good next season.
I will be here to wear it.

Acrid, smoky, nearby smudges of fire will expire
with the rising of crocuses, daffodils.
Damp from the floods will evaporate after the
ice and snow (if you’re lucky).

The last days of white linen
will resurrect their fabric and form
early next summer,
as they always have

In seasons of heat
and bare shoulders.


—Suzanne McDermott
30 August 20017

©2017 Suzanne McDermott/All Rights Reserved

©2017 Suzanne McDermott/All Rights Reserved