Faithful Servant

Solstice arrived this past week and brought along a full moon to the celebration. Almost half a century gone since its last invitation. I admit this was the first time I heard of a Strawberry Moon. Harvest Moon, Hunter's Moon, Blue Moon, those I know but never considered the possibility of others. Surely, if some have names, all of them must.

They do, and have for thousands of years. The names come from those people who relied on the moon and its cycles to track the seasons. Not unlike us with today's calendars. Next one up, according to Native American lore, the Buck Moon. Meanwhile, this orb continues to inspire stories of all manner in imaginations everywhere, including my own.



Faithful Servant


I looked on a gibbous moon
and the night disclosed softened
features on a pockmarked globe.

A scarred follower pulled
by the charm of the planet it shadows,
Sancho to Don Quixote,
subtly tugging, asserting gentle influences.

But from all reports
the master remains self-absorbed
and mostly oblivious.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Edgy Colors

Up to the lake again this past week, and even there the temperature surpassed the 90 degree mark. Keep in mind this was northern Wisconsin. All the while, the heat played footsie with a surge of humidity to the point of making our floor weep. On our final day a thunderstorm rolled in and disrupted the affair, clearing the air of all unpleasantness.

This morning we left a perfect day behind us: 72 degrees, clear skies, and a breeze ruffling the water. And now we're back to this island of heat we call home. I shouldn't complain; we could be living in Phoenix.



Edgy Colors


On plasma screens
the weather map lights up
with yellows and reds,
crabbing from west to east
along an unstable line.

          A towering thunderstorm forms
          a front on summer's brink.
          But it is my old black and white TV
          that has it right: gray on gray.

                             Outside
                             no bright candy color scenes,
                             only somber-suited clouds
                             and a hint of Oz-like green.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor
       

Egret

I am fortunate to live within walking distance of a city lake and wooded hiking trails, both a draw for many different species of birds: herons, chick-a-dees, and red-winged blackbirds, kingfishers and cardinals, mallards, geese, and gulls start the list, nicely. But my favorite remain the egrets with their dazzling white plumage and elegant movements. Many times I have spotted one fishing on the far side of the lake. More than once I have come within a stone's throw from another on the near shore. Both of us startled, me holding stock-still, the egret taking to the air. Mostly, though, I am too far away to pose any kind of a threat.



Egret


                               White-hot
spotlit against the dark summer reeds

that curtain the shore
and prying eyes of soft-pawed predators

the long-legged bird electrifies my gaze.    

                                            Unperturbed
grown too large for eagles
no further worries water-side

he dips his head to fish.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Service for Two

Sunday mornings have always been a refuge for me from the tedium and trepidations of daily life. A time set aside to enjoy a stack of papers, leisurely drink a latte, and discuss the state of the world with more irony than rancor, more humor than heated dissent. A few sacrosanct hours to kick back and relax on a routine basis. Hopefully, my attempt at replicating a cup of coffee comes through.



          Service for Two


                Coffee
           and crosswords
             as in puzzle,
            toes touching,
      Etta's voice still smoky
       with Saturday's songs
        now on the radio, low
         and reverent as any
           "Come to Jesus"
        choir down the block.



     Marilyn Aschoff Mellor