Shadows of Ourselves

Splashes on table
And on the kitchen floor:
Rays of morning sun.










Ancient wooden pole
Lights up in the morning sun--
Beacon of the past.

Caged forsythia
Blooms quietly by the road;
No brighter than free.

Stream is quiet now;
Woodpecker is louder;
The morning doves coo.


Some clusters of chives
Growing in community--
Green, spiky, pungent.












The street sign and me
Dark and flattened near the road--
Shadows of ourselves.









Already to seed
Dandelion white puff ball;
White blooms from dead branch.









Near the giant tree
A tiny pine sapling grows
Ready for winter.