(Peaks Island, Maine)

summer evening sky
darkness of underbrush filled with fireflies
(thinking of her sister jaunette in l.a. and azura in barcelona,
with whom she just spoke for an hour,
after her walk on the beach)
eating blueberries one by one like candy from a small blue willow-ware bowl
and sipping ice cold milk from a blue and gold moroccan tea glass
(sent to her by rougine)
even by moonlight,
the dark blue irises,
and pansies in the garden
are nearly invisible.
she will work late into the blue night
she must finish the painting for the show at the gallery in the old port next week
tomorrow, she will not wake before the post has come
a letter from her sister will greet her in the new day. . .

All writing contained in this website 1998-2005 by Betty A. Parker