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Saturday, April 29, 2017

Like Fallen Stars


 













Brightness in the air;
Maybe it's forsythia
Echoing the light.














Everything is still;
Just the wind chime sways slightly
In the empty air.

























Melting into wood
Ant scurries on the railing
With no place to go.















Olivia's head
Raised at just the right angle
To get a good scratch.

















Above the swift stream
Dandelion looks over
Content in its place.















Forsythia goes,
Its petals dotting the ground
Like fallen stars.














Trash cans upended--
Bears have taken the good stuff.
(They have no manners).















He says it is "quince"--
These soft gentle red blossoms;
But what is in a name?





































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