Warm and Welcoming

 Ladder on my lawn
Pointing towards the fat bushes.
Who will climb the lawn?

My kitchen table
Filled with plates and magazines.
There's no place to eat.

The arrows still point
For the cyclists who will pass
Many months ago.

It's tightfisted now:
Queen Anne's Lace holding its young
Ready for next step.

Suspended mid sky
The puffed cloud seems to hover.
(Is it watching me?)

 Forest miracle
Untouched by hands of humans
Lies just off the road.

Once a strong tree limb;
Now a pale pile of wood chips.
The men keep trimming.

Passing Ghost's stable;
Faint pungent smell of horse shit,
Warm and welcoming.