Down Here, There's Just Me

Early lawn shadows
Cast their long, soft, dark fingers
Towards the morning sun.

 

 Shadows of shovel
Play across my window screen
In the bright sunlight.

 

 Now the buds are brown;
Forsythia's a Spring dream
Of bursting yellow.

 

A pale morning moon
Shines faintly over tree tops.
A distant dog yips.

Cold wind up the road
Lightly stirs the mirror stream
Into small ripples.

Delicately poised,
Broken trees are supported
By wooden neighbors.

Even gnarled old stumps
Look strangely mysterious
In the morning light.

Way beyond those hills
Are bear, deer, coyote, fox;
Down here there's just me.