
Fall’s blissful colors
spill from tidy garden bed
sublime sweet scents sing

Western Window
All is quiet out my western window,
blooms have bowed their heads,
moon has faded into a shrunken slice
and song birds are tucked in their beds.
September slithers, while days sneak by.
Darkness seeps past cracks of light,
overtaking summer’s sweltering sunshine.
Once again, Fall enters with great might.
Ears strain for bluebirds and wrens,
going to my window which squeaks
a scornful song and mournful tune.
Only my floor creaks and steps speak.
Autumn has entered in; chased birds away,
caused blooms to drop their prickly seeds,
pushed tepid breezes miles to the south,
and has done its dastardly, deadly deeds.
My hope is when seasons do change,
I’d embrace what joys attaches to each;
now the air will blow a blush on trees-
while a new lesson God may daily teach.
P. Wolf
“… He said, “More than that, blessed are those who hear the word of God and keep it!” Luke 11:28

NATURE OF CONSTRUCTION
Layered beyond the rumble of traffic;
Autumn birds call in from the distance.
They care not of coming change, as long
as they can bellow their merry sober song.
Buried beneath lengthy marsh grass,
Fall crickets sing a lovely lulling call.
They worry not of the rumbling noise;
humming, strumming song of choice.
Above in skies which gleam slate blue;
migrating birds now traveling anew.
They tour and soar the heavens high
content and cheerful with not a worry.
Within the dewy forest floor, I now spy
white tailed deer and wild turkey hidden.
They hunker down waiting for some relief
alert, alarmed, annoyed by traffic grief.
Upon my gravel driveway I engage;
moaning of my morning stroll’s change.
I care more of my daily walking habitat
than road repair with so much traffic.
Perhaps, it may be one of God‘s design;
for a detour or two in earthly life’s decline.
I see freedom in flocks of migrating birds
and hear the joy in chipper cricket’s call.
I’ll willingly sport my new safety vest,
pace my gravel driveway for the morn
and whisper a prayer of good to bloom;
as birds go south, while crickets swoon.
“For May thoughts are not your thoughts,
nor are your ways My ways,” declares the Lord. Isaiah 55:8


ROOTED
Along the banks of Turtle Creek,
there stands a solitary tree.
The sky ablaze behind its form,
and murky waters slowly flow.
In an isolated moment, I feel like
a reclusive, remote, rooted tree;
standing firm along Turtle Creek.
P. Wolf
“But his delight is in the law of the Lord, And in His law he meditates day and night. He shall be like a tree Planted by the rivers of water, That brings forth its fruit in its season, Whose leaf also shall not wither; And whatever he does shall prosper.” Psalm 1:2-3


Coming in 2024

You can join all 11 authors on Facebook at: The Apron String’s Reader Group where weekly we post tidbits about our upcoming books. Step into 1920, 1930, 1940 and all the way through 2020; enjoying historical facts about the decades. P. Wolf

Scarlet dancers drip,
drop in fragile pools and piles
crackle under foot.




















