Cicadas & Snowbirds


Cicada. Photo by Shannon Potter from Unsplash.

Cicadas & Snowbirds

Late September now…

Cicadas singing swan songs,

summer’s last hurrah!

Still rainy in Florida…

raindrops dripping from palm trees.

Photo by Roberto Vivano from Pexels.

Hurricane season

giving way in October…

Birds migrating south,

nesting and raising their young

in Florida’s bright blue days.

Photo by Marisa Howenst from Unsplash.

November. Snowbirds,

fleeing winter’s snowy blast,

also migrate south.

Their nesting days are over…

Grandchildren come to visit.

Photo by Tima Miroshni from Pexels.

Holiday visitors flock

to warm, Florida beaches

in sunny December.

On the beach with grandchildren.

Radio plays “White Christmas.”

Beach in Fort Myers, Florida. Photo by Sarah Granger from Unsplash.

January days.

Bermuda shorts and sweaters

on the golf course.

Delightful weather!

February…still golfing!

Florida Golf Course. Photo by Mick Haupt from Unsplash.

In March and April,

snowbird thoughts turn northward

to dogwoods in bloom.

Snowbirds take their flight

to their summer homes up North.

Dogwood Tree. Photo by Jonathan Hana from Unsplash.

May…hot and sunny.

Cicada chorus and rain

June through September.

Hurricane season waning.

Cicadas sing finale.

Cicada. Photo by Stephen Walker from Unsplash.

Copyright© 2021 by Cheryl Batavia


Katey and Joe Batavia visit their Snowbird Grandparents, Renee and Gabe Batavia. Boynton Beach, Florida, circa 1996. Photo by Cheryl Batavia.

Oblivion Can Wait

Male cardinal. Photo by Joshua Cotten from Unsplash
Purple Ruellas. Photo by Cheryl Batavia

Oblivion Can Wait

Wakeful

in the dim light

and stillness of morning,

I lie beside you, listening

to your breathing, holding your hand.

You turn over and sleep.

Warm and drowsy,

I doze.

I dream

you take my hand,

and together we rise

toward peaceful oblivion…

I waken suddenly…Not today!

Today, cardinals sing

their cheery songs

outside.

Today,

the grass is green.

In anticipation

of sunrise, ruellas open,

glowing purple in golden light.

Today belongs to us.

Oblivion

can wait.

Today,

the sun comes up.

I drink my tea and write.

You are sleeping, but when you wake,

we will spend the day together.

Today belongs to us.

Oblivion

can wait.

Purple Ruellas. Photo by Cheryl Batavia

Copyright© 2021 by Cheryl Batavia


We are in a holding pattern at our house. Robert’s cataract surgery has been postponed because of an infection in a root canal. The infection, which didn’t show up in dental x-rays, was finally discovered with a 3-D scan. After the root canal is redone, antibiotics, and no infection for several weeks, cataract surgery can be rescheduled. Thank you for understanding if I am a little erratic on WordPress for a while.