Shadow in bushes:
Squirrel leaps through forsythia;
A twitchy gray form.
Old man on the tree
Stares forlorn from his prison;
A flattened shadow.
Meeting of the cars:
Mercedes and pick up truck.
Each one to their own.
Skeletal old plant
Shakes feebly in the light breeze;
Was once Queen Anne's Lace.
The shadows don't play;
They simply bask on the road
Surrounded by sun.
With its limbs outstretched
Mossy log lies in the sun.
Quiet jubilee.
Poised delicately
Dry leaf touches its shadow
As if to say, "bye."
Bright light, sharp shadows--
Sun always paints its absence;
Under the blue sky.
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