From the Dusty Dirt

Will it rain or shine?
It's like a passing movie.
Now the leaves tremble.

My morning sadness
Doesn't have a real reason.
(What does that matter?)

Dueling roosters crow
While butterfly flutters by;
The gray sky is soft.

 

Stand of yellow blooms
Huddle brightly in the field;
First frog in the stream.

From the dusty dirt
Tiny pale flowers emerge,
Faint enough to miss.

 

He walks with two canes
Focusing on his journey
On Yerry Hill Road.

 

Woodpecker rattling
Somewhere in grove of dead trees;
Unseen as always.

A silence descends;
Only the faintest breeze blows;
Road shadows are still.