Sandra Scott

Sandra Scott

One and Two

They sauntered out onto the rocks

and settled on a narrow flat ledge

that jutted out into the water

like a pointer finger.

The sun sat between clouds and horizon

casting an orange glow on lined cheeks.

A toast to the day's end,

the last sip of wine,

and she turned to him, playfully

requesting a dance to begin the evening

to end the day.

Slowly, he took her hand, turned it skyward,

kissed her palm and asked,

in mock solemnity,

if she'd join him for a waltz.

Of course, she smiled,

and holding his eyes

she rose, then curtsied

to his gentlemanly ways.

Their hands found the right places,

practiced in this ritual,

and the dance began.

The breeze blew the hair from her cheeks

and she admired the burnished copper sunset

color of his face, and held his gaze

in the approaching dusk.

Children skittered, laughing, shrieking,

tag-team across the rocks

determined to have the last bit of sun

to light their play.

On they ran down the shore

to a distant fire by the lake.

He watched them go

then turned back to see his hand

suspended mid-air, waiting

for the dance to begin again

save the memory of her hand in his.

Ah, he sighed and whistled under his breathe.

Wandering again, he whispered to himself.

He shuffled a little two step

and turning to go, looked back.

Lovely dance, he said

to the air and water and peach-colored clouds.

Lovely dance.

4/24/08

FATHER'S DAY

My son is such a fine father,
he is quiet and patient.
When little one is undone,
they put their heads together
and speak softly.

He holds the boy close
in the crook of an arm.
They are holding
a moment of grace,
disguised as everyday.

My Say

A walk to the garden
by the goat pasture
where Joe the horse
looks mirthfully at me
waiting to snatch the hat
from my head and play.
On the way,
tongues lap at my hands.
Heads bob and weave
to be petted,
haunches presented
for due attention.
Nanny and baby
bleat their hello
and gobble the sweetfeed
from my cupped hands
My feet take me down
this path every day.
Such adoration,
the day's solace and repose.

Home on the Range

The barrel fire blazed up
sparks floated into the night sky
as another stick of wood 
was tossed into the blue flames.
We gathered round adjusting chairs
to keep our knees from scorching
in the blue heat and glowing orange sides.
Dogs sat at our feet
catching a nose on loose hands,
napping in the waves of heat
and easy conversation,
shifting to find their own distance
from singed hair.
Coyotes yip and howl
but cannot coax the canines
to leave their people.
Familiar amenities 
await inside
but cannot coax the people 
to leave their canines.  
Sleep begs my attention and
I curl up on the ground,
dogs on each side,
my slumber deep and warm,
the moon just risen
over the trees.  



Diane's Brussels Chocolates

Her fingers went to the
canary yellow papered box
with decorative embossments
and a thin gold cord
quartered around the
rectangular box.

Smiling, leisurely
she peeled back
the thick paper 
and discovered
assorted chocolates
in rainbow tinsel foil,
nestled in the 
lidded turquoise depths.  

The yellow paper
turquoise box
rainbow tinsel foil 
and shiny gold cord
lay together
on the tabletop
colorful, exotic
eye catching, pleasing
as the chocolate
melts in her mouth. 



discovered