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Friday, November 17, 2017

Make Their Own Bridges

















November morning;
Shadow scuttles on the floor;
Insect ? (Or my mind?) 



























Furry bump on tree
Turns into a sleek squirrel;
Then a bump again.







































Wind chimes are clinking
Keeping time to the wind's song
With their own rhythm.

















No cloud in the sky--
Fantasies of a snow storm
Still live in my mind.




















Planted on the car
Tree shadows assume their place
Without any care.




















As if by design
Tree branches in the forest
Make their own bridges.





















Sun drenched mountain path
Leading, as always, nowhere.
(Good enough for me.)





















Fern light flourishes
Enhanced by kiss of the sun
And gentle caress.











































 





Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Raises Some Questions










Bright November day;
Even dead leaves look lively;
Spider web strands shine.






























Evergreens are green;
Rhododendron buds are full;
Is winter coming?

















Etched on the tree trunk--

Maps of strange territory
Still to be explored.






















Back to back they stand--
Collette and Olivia
Across the barnyard.



















Queen Anne's Lace clutches
Tiny tender blooms that were--
Now live as dry ghosts.



















A trail of pine cones
Lining up along the road
Raises some questions.


















Low slung woodpecker
Hit these trees--nobody saw;
(Must have been at night.)


















Old fence loses teeth,
Falling incrementally;
Needs some new bridge work.











































Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Only the Holes Know













Sun has disappeared;
Clouds have fully cloaked the sky; 
Whole world is gray now.






















Gliding past my house
A figure with a red hat;
Animal or man?



















Rhododendron buds
Stand up brightly this dim day;
Don't mind the weather.


































Where are the lilacs?
Only their dim leaves remain.
(Not even a scent).


































Stream is all shadows:
Liquid darkness and cloud light.
Faint water whispers.



















Receiving new gifts
Flat rock graciously accepts them,
Its stone arms open.




















They are still waiting
For wind to blow them away:
These patient seed puffs.



















Eating on the road
Goat enjoys some new freedom;
(Then he's had enough).





















Woodpecker's pecking--
Did they find anything here?
Only the holes know.























The magic wood snake
Poised in mid air, not to strike,
But to take a look.












Monday, November 13, 2017

Fake Resurrection

































Walks from November 8-12, 2017






Blue-jays race and caw
Flying, shrieking angrily;
Then, there's just their sound.















My first day at home
And my worries returning. 
Happy for my walk.















In front of Buddha
A spider has caught a leaf
And left it hanging.





























As white as a ghost
Phantom mushroom sits alone
In November soil.














Collette is eating;
Olivia in shadows;
Each in their own world.















Shadows in the woods;
Dark lines falling on dead leaves--
November portent.


















Obliterated:
Road sign hidden by dirt, age
Will just be a shape.

















Pine cones on the road
Distinguished by their shadows;
Buzz saw in the woods.











November 9, 2017


Bright sunlit morning;
I remember that I'm home;
Dark shadows are still.















Coffee roaster stopped;
The house is filling with silence;
Fridge runs and then stops.



















Two cows are standing
Like statues in their front lawn,
Enjoying the sun.


















Trembling in breeze--
Timothy glows in sunlight--
Autumn excitement.














Two leaves suspended
As they're falling to the ground,
Pause for a photo.
















The ancient stream bed
Contains only dead leaves now
(And an old beer can).





















Leaves hang suspended
In the bushes where they fell--
Fake resurrection.


















Door to the basement
Just an empty opening:
Portal to darkness.












November 11, 2017


It's so very cold;
I still have yet to go out.
Sun in winter mode.

















Twinkle in the leaves--
Sun's smiling through the branches
Welcoming me out.











Staring into space
Olivia munches grass.
(Meditative cow?)

















Forsythia leaves
Have lost their former splendor.
(Pampas plants still glow.)
























Stretching cross the creek
Two logs joining together
Create their own bridge.




















Winding forest path
Unworn by feet of humans;
Carved by dark shadows.



















Proudly posing goat
Shines in the light of the sun--
A golden creature!








November 12, 2017








Black dots in the green;
Birds moving in the bushes;
Check for food--then leave.














Squirrel runs down tree trunk,
Then merges into brown-gray.
(Was it ever there?)














Limbs stretched gracefully:
Slender tree branch on the road,
Poised like a dancer.












From both directions--
Walkers on the road today.
It's a sunny morn.















Single dead leaf hangs
In forest of bare branches;
It waits for the wind.













If the sun is right
And the earth cooperative
Even dead leaves glow.














Venerably gray,
Guarding the gate to the house--
Two pampas clusters.














Seems like he's crying--
More a search than a message
This wandering crow.