Crisp May morning wind
Trembles the leaves and bushes;
Man bends to the grass.

Smiling at the sky
Dandelion reflects sun.
Shines right back at it.













Shadows cross the road
Weaving a web of dark shapes
Indistinctly sharp.

My battery's dead;
Camera refuses to work--
I have just my eyes.

Prancing tree shadows
Shimmy darkly on the road;
They dance to the wind.

Reared against the hill
Tree sends roots back to the bank--
Defies gravity.

Puffs float through the air--
Gray white phantoms of the day;
Some will land and grow.