Mother Nature and Father Time

Time and Nature

are Father and Mother,

or so we have told ourselves.

Indeed that cold day in February

has turned soft and warm

in March. And time,

well, it marches on hard apace.

And so I sit,

the breeze ruffling my hair,

a veil of cloud,

the sun warming through.

The river curves.

And then time passes by

like a woman - and now I am

reluctant to see her sauntering

away from me down the levee trail,

tan sandals on her feet,

toes painted salmon.

And then, too, I feel that today

Father is the bench,

extending up from the center of the earth,

his wooden arm against my shoulder.

The man in me sighs.

The woman in me is strong.

And our lover is the moon.

Our children are the stars.

Or maybe it’s all the other way around.