I had an aunt who was a violin teacher and, according to family legend, when I was two or three, I’d watch her teaching and then pick up two pieces of wood and “play.” When I was five, she gave me my first lessons, and quickly became excited about my talent.
Continue reading… "Memoirs of a Stupid Woman"The crowd has gone.
He smiles from the picture.
Every now and then a sympathy card.
Slower pace, life at a crossroad.
Plotting strategies in strident tones
the robins begin to attack.
“The head, the head”, they shrill
and swoop to circle the cherry tree;
Some old faces contain
young folk who eagerly look forward
others are old thru and thru
clinging to yesterdays
Today, I intended to build a wall,
install a door,
this poem got in the way.
A poem about hallways, passages,
Masts at the marina totter with each gust
drunken sticks staggering nowhere
finches have fled the feeder
hide deep in the dark trees
by the path to the water
