Christopher Donahue

Thanksgiving is over. The pots and pans clean are clean and the dishes done. All the leftovers from a delicious Thanksgiving dinner are put away in the fridge. The weekend winds down. I’ve had my fill of turkey and football. It’s the last few hours to relax before the new week. My feet are up, the laptop’s out, and it’s time to reflect on another happy holiday with family and friends.

Thanksgiving was wonderful again this year, and that itself is something for which to be thankful. The more seasoned I get, the more I appreciate how fortunate we are to spend time with family and friends. As the years go by, it’s apparent how fragile the good things in life can be: health, happiness,family and friends, plenty. And it is sobering to realize we are entitled to none of the aforementioned things. Gratitude is indeed the attitude.

It’s late now and the wife and cats are sleeping. My mind wanders to the shelf in the fridge with the leftover turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes. I can’t forget the gravy. Maybe I will whip up one late night snack!

This Thanksgiving I think I will make a resolution.

And that is, I will try to remind myself to be thankful all year round!

copyright 2018 Christopher M. Donahue

A poem for the November, the month of remembrance.

cold light

from a sun since set

glows through leafless branches

over freshly turned earth

stars come out

the casket

rests deep

in the chill ground

mourners gone home

to warmly lit kitchens

and quiet dinners

on the first night of forever

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue

October Sestina

season of pumpkins
and full moon
neatly arranged haystacks
fallen leaves
bags of candy
and ghosts

they appear those ghosts
floating between the pumpkins
like grey cotton candy
under a vanilla moon
above the leaves
and haystacks

surrounded by haystacks
afraid to encounter ghosts
a child rustles leaves
hurrying toward a patch of pumpkins
watched by a silent moon
anxious for candy

Halloween candy
piled like haystacks
lit by a silvery moon
all the ghosts
dancing with pumpkins
in the strewn leaves

yellow and red leaves
like candy
scattered among pumpkins
and haystacks
watched over by ghosts
beneath an argent moon

Harvest moon
on autumn leaves
glimpse of ghosts
promise of candy
amidst the haystacks
and pumpkins

By moon light, witches and goblins seek candy
shuffling through leaves, winding around haystacks
watchful for ghosts and the king of pumpkins

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue

A warm September Sunday afternoon. The leaves on the big maple in the back yard were still green and the sky a hazy, bright blue. The last day of the month and the weather was much too nice to be in-doors watching football.

I stepped out of the house into the warm, amnesiac light and surveiled my wild, overgrown garden.

Green tomatoes to the left of me,

Green tomatoes to the right of me,

Green tomatoes all around me

What to do with all these green tomatoes?

The Farmers Almanac predicted a cold and snowy winter.  On that balmy September afternoon I wouldn’t hazard a guess  as to the type of winter we’d have. But I was fairly sure it would feature  lot of spaghetti sauce.

copy 2018 Christopher Donahue

A Poem for September

the week starts in summer

ends in fall

green tomatoes on Monday

by Friday they’re red

from the verdant

to glorious golden decline

I live the same process

over decades

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue

Somewhere in the ethereal tumult, in the great halls of air swirling over Hudson Bay, a slight change was made. Perhaps, the famous butterfly flit its wings and the slight pulse of air built until a little breeze blew. And that little breeze blew and blew until it eventually turned over the page of my calendar to August. And with the changing of the calendar, rains and cloudy nights came to a formerly clear blue and starry  New England summer.

I didn’t need a calendar to tell me it was August. Cloudy night-skies were enough. Ever since I was a little kid I have been observing the Perseid meteor shower in August. And while the Perseid shower shows up every year like clockwork, it is always hit or miss with the weather.  (As a practical note you can observe three or four evenings before of after the peak which this year was August 12, 2018.)

This year I was flying home late from Cincinnati the evening of the peak meteors. I  attended 10MIN and had a wonderful time making new friends and learning a lot. An upside of the late flight, I figured, would be I’d be up for the Perseid shower. Alas, the weather didn’t cooperate. It was starry as we flew home above the clouds, but I didn’t see any meteors out the window. I did see a large, glowering, close to opposition, Mars following us the whole way back.

When we got to Boston the whole area was fogged in. No observing the Perseids this year.  I took a cab home through the spooky, empty, foggy streets. Opening the front door, I was greeted by my trusty cat Quiet Rustle who was blinking his eyes to wake up. It was great to be home again safe and sound.

Thanks to the love that moves the sun and stars!

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue

The sun is setting behind the trees, yet the heat is still an oppressive presence. The neighbor’s lawn mower sputters to a stop. A single engine propeller plane purrs across the sky. A blue-jay calls out harshly. Then, a  different bird calls out with a very pretty call. Someday, I tell myself, I will identify the bird with the pretty call.  It is one of the things on my to-do list.

Over my right shoulder a familiar voice meows in my ear. It is my cat, Quiet Rustle, wanting to get out the window. Without looking, I stop typing on the laptop, put my arms behind my head, and slide the screen up. Quiet Rustle leaps out onto the porch. His brother Felix follows right behind. I type on.

Life is good, for which I am thankful.

And this hot August evening  is beautiful.

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue

I know I’m too old for this but there’s a subtle feeling of helplessness, of being swept along -and to something lousy- that happens when I see the calendar about to change to August.

Barely awake, I go out barefoot, in shorts and t-shirt to check the tomatoes. Everything is green and lush in the golden light. The air is still and warm.  The tomatoes are coming along nicely. And, so are the watermelons and corn that we tried on a lark this year. It’s been a great summer for growing a garden: Hot and humid days but intermittent bouts of rain. It is shaping up to be a great beach day but I have to go to work.

Can’t it just stay July, forever

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue

What a pleasant summer-evening surprise.

Last night, I stepped out on the back porch to check something before bed, and lo and behold, there to greet my eye was a remarkably beautiful  celestial event! A gorgeous half-moon was setting in the southwestern sky, with a brilliant Jupiter glowing to the lower right. It was very pretty.

Though I was about to go to bed, I dashed back in to get my binoculars and observe the moons of Jupiter. Though the mighty, gas-giant has thousand of moons, I would be observing the ones that are most easily visible from earth: The Galilean moons. These four moons, Callisto, Europa, Ganymede and Io, were first observed by Galileo , circa 1610, and his observation  gave him the revolutionary idea ( pun intended) that the earth went round the sun.

As for my observation, I enjoy observing the Galilean moons because they change position every night just like they did for Galileo.

And I can tell people I saw five moons last night!

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue

In July, I usually write about the weather. I make no apologies about that. When I was young, I didn’t write about July weather . And that was because July, and the summer, seemed to last forever. Now, I’m not necessarily old, but I am older. And, I’m well aware time and July goes by faster, and the magnificence of summer in New England is fleeting.

It’s morning and I work on this blog bleary-eyed and drinking coffee, in a wicker chair, on the porch, wearing t-shirt and shorts, barefoot. Perfect weather. My cats Quiet Rustle and Felix loll about.  I glance at the snow shovels I neglected to put away standing ready near the backdoor. Leave them there, it will be winter soon enough flashes through my mind. I consider that for a moment.

I resolve right then and there to finally put the snow shovels away.

Everything, indeed, has a season.

copyright 2018 Christopher Donahue