The Seasons: A Poem

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Sunrise over Amazing Grasses Family Farm The mad Artist wields His brush, Painted colors rush, To life and give flush, Before the quiet autumn hush. The life seems to pour, As colors fall to the floor, To be seen no more, Outside the dark, grey door. Brightness from below, Sun upon the snow, High, cold clouds blow, Flakes and ice appear to grow. The man melts with little seen, Underneath, pale, grey green, Hides life in dark unseen, Waits for warmth and to careen. Buds on branches show, Patience starts to grow, Trickles, streams and veins flow, Bringing fruits of melted snow. Sprung to life it springs, Bees, birds, sound rings, Lush green flings, Its gift bounty brings. Green growth gives one last rush, Underneath the Painter's brush. The mad Artist wields His brush, before the quiet autumn hush. More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in  The Last Dragon and Other Poems  available now. My new book of cryptogram puzzles " Secret Messages from the Saints " is avai
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Catching up on Pictures

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The boys found some berries to smash.



Nice glasses for #2.

...and #3.
My beautiful wife.

Catherine and her curls.

#6 is getting around a little too well.

A Sunday hike at Clear Creek.

#2 in disguise.

Homeschool on the deck.

#6 testing his climbing skills.

and doing rather well.

Our field trip.

Oh yeah, the common phrases from all the elderly folks there - "are they all yours?", "Shouldn't they be in school?"



Finally, the #1 ranked Ohio State Buckeyes. The #28 for each completely confuses the opposing team.

Bicycle and baseball batting helmets and puffy vests underneath their jerseys make for a complete uniform.

How'd you like to face these guys?

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