Two doves on a wire;
The third dove has flown away.
Bird monogamy.

Purple, white and green;
Lilacs contrast with the trees.
There is no conflict.

Two doves on the road
Fly away and then return.
It is courtship time.

The fence is falling;
Tree leaves entwine bent links.
It's nature's embrace.

The dark, dead tree stump
Alive with moss and flowers;
Sculpture in the woods.

Flash of blue feathers;
The bird flies behind the tree;
Then disappears.

May breeze in my ear
Brings faint hollow memories
Like a large sea shell.

Standing in the road
Deer stares intently at me
Then goes on its way

Now it's lilac time;
Lavender and white compete;
Bird flies from the bush.

The field is clipped neat--
Timna's bat mitzvah here soon.
Robins peck the grass.

Sky is full of gray;
A cold wind blows down the road.
A hard rain will fall.

Chain saw is humming;
Empty wrapper on the road.
A cold May morning.

Vaulted trees ahead
Touch their tips above the road,
Make a green tunnel.

Thousands of white buds
Spread across the forest bank
Waiting to blossom.

Rain is in the air;
Maple leaves are trembling;
Lilacs bow and sway.

The woods seem deeper,
The stone wall goes on and on
Into the darkness.

Carried on the wind:
The whispered breath of lilacs
And the hope of rain.

Gray clouds, sun patches,
Shivering rustling leaves;
A fragrant wind blows.

A flash of yellow:
Finch flutters to the tree top
And joins the green leaves.

White petals flutter;
Pale lilac bends in the breeze
Broadcasting its smell.

Truck groans up the hillLeaving a gasoline smell.
Then the woods return.

The deep, dappled woods--
Shiny puddles here and there.
Smell of moist, warm earth.

Shadows on the road;
Bird calls monotonously;
Fly hums in my ear.

Now the road is dark;
A hawk flies beneath the cloud
Just a silhouette.

Now stream is rushing,
Tinkling next to the road.
Now the bed is dry.

Shadow in the woods
Still, dark and mysterious--
A dog or tree stump?

Purring lawn mower
Moves swiftly across the field.
Sweet smell of cut grass.

The thick smell of rain;
Robin flies to the bush top;
Everything's muted.

Yellow newspaper,
Crumpled soggy in the grass;
A bird's wings flutter.

Baseball on the lawn
Abandoned by its owners
Awaits with patience.

Small sprinkle of blue
Lights up a patch in the woods;
Counter to the green.

Thick gray sky holds promise;
The woods are muted and still;
Small van moves slowly.

Clusters of white buds
Hang their heads at the road's edge;
Soon they will burst forth.

Lavender clusters
Waft off whispered memories:
Voice of the lilacs.

The shiny green vine
Twists gently up the phone pole;
Whoops! It's poison ivy.

Road sign says "Our Road";
On it some gleaming water.
Is it "Our Puddle"?

Green leaves on bare trees
Sprouting as if by magic.
Not there yesterday?

Rooster crows loudly;
He knows not the flower's names
(And neither do I).

The stream moves faintly
As if it enjoys the sun.
What's not to enjoy?

Lilacs are budding;
Forsythia is dying.
The parade of Spring.

The woods look witchy;
Spring shadows and fairy light;
Movement in stillness.

Dandelion puffs
Stream gently above the road.
Passing travelers.

Woods are thick with green;
Sunlight filters through the laves
And falls in shadows.

Tiny blue flowers
Sprout in clusters in the shade
Draw my eyes to them.

Forsythia blooms
Now lie scattered on the ground.
Where has the time gone?

Dandelion heads:
Yellow sprinkles by the road;
One is a gray puff.

The little Shih Tzu
Bark and bounce against window.
It's more fun outside.

Calmness on the road;
Birds hoot softly in the woods;
Waves of insect songs.

Dead raccoon is gone;
A dark patch marks where it was.
Just the smell remains.

Pine shaped air freshener
Lying face down on the road
Imitates nature.

Air is taffy sweet;
Breeze brings grass and flower smells--
School's end memories.

Path into the woods
Covered with brown pine needles
Touched by soft sunlight.

A soft white seed puff
Floats and twirls above the road
Riding on the breeze.

Fresh smell in the breeze;
Wind comes swirling down the hill
And stirs the pine tree.

The rolling green field,
Now touched by patches of brown.
Colors have reversed.

Phosphorescent haze
Floats yellow above my head
Fresh forsythia.

Fluttering white moth
Hovers above the dead leaves.
What is it seeking?

Christmas ornaments,
Still hanging from the mailbox
Sparkle in Spring light.

Stone wall in the woods
Climbs to the top of the hill
Camouflaged by rocks.

Crazy little bugs
Buzz frantic around my eyes;
A sure sign of Spring.

Fluttering black moth
Alights softly on the road
And becomes stillness.

Pine branches swaying;
A breeze ripples up the tree.
How blue is the sky.

Robin in the tree
Sits and sways in the breeze.
He just won't let go.

A lone daffodil
Pokes up from the ground cover:
Blast of white on green.

"Reward! Find our Dog"
The sign is tacked to the poles.
The puppy is gone.

Shadows cross the road
With straight black stripes like zebras.
They're ghosts of the trees.

Pine needles sparkle;
The sun illuminates them.
I must close my eyes.

Small buds on the branch
Peek out green and cautiously;
Then sway in the breeze.

The dog frolics forth;
He runs towards me and goes past.
He's meeting his friends.

The bleached bare tree trunk
Stands amid the other trees.
But they are alive.

The Basset Hound's ears
Lift and flop as I scratch them.
He's in ecstasy.

The blinding white house
Lit up by the morning sun;
Two loud roosters crow.

A call and response:
Two cocks crow at each other
Across a wide field.

Tiny blue flowers
Are sprinkled across the lawn:
Spring awakening.

Yellow more yellow;
Green more green and brown more brown;
Magic of the sun.

Four men blowing leaves
Each with giant vacuums;
The dirt stings my eyes.

The wind blows a tree;
It sings a high groaning sound.
Even wood wakes up.

Two loud woodpeckers
Echo themselves in the trees.
Forest counterpoint.

Washer in the woods
Partly covered with wasp's nest
Still waits patiently.

The cardboard "Sale" sign
Hangs limply on the light pole.
The sale is over.

Green buds on the bush;
The sun illuminates them;
Just what will they be?

Rasping lawn machine
Fills the air with its racket.
A woodpecker pecks.

Bright speckled sunlight
Splashes gently through the woods,
Deep, now, but not dark.

The uprooted tree
Lies brown and bare in the woods
Next to a green bush.

Dead branch on rock ledge
Hangs off precipitously.
Will it ever fall?

A circle of rocks
Sits a few yards in the woods.
What tale does it tell?

The collapsed stone wall
Disappears into the woods.
Does it ever end?

Mist covered morning;
Ghost trees stand on the field's edge.
The road disappears.

Sun breaks through the fog;
Soft shadows fall on the road,
Then they disappear.

A burst of yellow
Erupts through the fog ahead:
Forsythia bush.

Trees are cloaked in mist;
They seem to whisper secrets;
Sun shines behind them.

Fuzzy green mullein
Sits happily in dead leaves;
Soaking up moisture.

Sun breaks through the mist
Illuminating the trees.
Plane hums out of sight.

Two dogs on the hill
Sit silently like statues.
They don't even bark.

The old black tree stump
Looks as if it has been burned;
Just the fires of time.

The fog has lifted;
Sun sprays shadows on the road;
A car hood sparkles.

Drops on the road sign
Hang there precipitously.
The sun shines through them.

Moist and spicy smell;
Shiny slug crosses the road.
Full April morning.

Two robins playing
Hop and flutter together.
Must be mating time.

Forsythia blooms;
Bursts of yellow on the fence;
Birds call back and forth.

Moisture in the air;
The rich sweet smell of the earth.
The woods are silent.

The sun is softer
Touching the electric poles
And muting shadows.

Soft clouds veil the sun,
Then slide away letting light.
A lone bird twitters.

White dog in the woods
Sniffs the leaves and then moves on.
Ghost with wagging tail.

Bright blotch on the road
Stands out against the grayness:
The first dead red eft.

White dog meets black dogs;
She lies down, they sniff and piss.
Dog introductions.

Black dog looks longing
As white dog leaves him behind,
Thinks, "She's pretty cute."

Warbling bird call;
Rooster puts in his two cents;
Light beam breaks through cloud.

Robin pecks at hay,
Comes up with beak full of grass,
Says, "Yichh. Where's my worm?"

The wires are humming;
A dove hoots its swallowed cry;
Forsythia buds.

Robin skims the field
Then stands stock still and waiting.
Where is the next worm?

The stream seems lighter,
The water clearer, brighter.
The sky is so blue.

The green beer bottle
Lies next to green chive cluster
Near the dead raccoon.

Black line in the woods;
Electricity through the trees;
All without a sound.

The spider tree stump
Leans grasping over the rocks
With nothing to grab.

Gray muzzled old dog
Lifts his head to glance at me
Then plops back to sleep.

The bare brown dead tree
Has fallen against two pines.
Like friends, they prop it.

It's both sun and clouds;
Small bird fidgets on a wire;
Basset wags its tail.

Robin hops and turns;
Man pulls empty wheelbarrow;
Spring preparation.

Chives stand like soldiers
Guarding the road side in clumps;
They must like car fumes.

My toes are happy,
Open at last to the air.
End of shoe hiding.

Small dandelions
Sprinkled merrily near woods.
Where did they come from?

The shadows are soft;
Sun glistens on car windows;
Distant chain saw sounds.

Shadow of a fan
Whirls ghostlike and silently
In the quiet house.

Small dandelions,
Their yellow phosphorescence
Shouting from the leaves.

An old dead brown leaf
Skitters and jerks on the road;
Puppet of the breeze.

Wind is in the woods
Whispering among the trees:
"It's time to wake up."

Boy leans against tree;
Looks languidly at brother.
It's vacation time.

Cock crows on Sunday;
Fat little bird ignores me;
No cloud in the sky.

Nose poked through the fence
Sad eyed Basset wants a scratch
Then back to his howl.

The fence posts ripple;
Their wooden slats skip and sway.
What good do they do?

The electric pole:
Wires stream from its crossed beams.
Crucified current.

The woods seem greeneries;
Moss on logs, sun through the pines.
The promise of Spring.

The sun is quiet
As it falls upon the road
Without a whisper.

A brown beer bottle
Lies in a roadside puddle.
It almost fits in.

Glisten in the woods;
It's a pool of fresh water.
No ice any more.

The dogs bark again;
Each time they do the same thing.
Why don't they get bored?

Birds sing all around;
The sky is gray and pregnant.
An Irish soft day.

White patch in the woods;
Could it be some stubborn snow?
No. Just some plastic.

Hollow woodpecker
Beats a tattoo on the tree.
Barking dog lies down.

The trees promise green;
The gray sky promises rain;
April is not cruel.

The forest is moist;
Water puddles in stream beds;
The dark earth is soft.

The green chive clusters
Stand pointedly together
Waiting to be munched.

"For Sale by Owner"--
The sign is tacked to the tree.
Who will own the woods?

I wear gloves again;
The sky gray and overcast.
Could this be April?

Flutter in the field;
Robins quickly hop around.
Cold wind brushes past.

Distant rooster crows;
The stream warbles on its way.
Ahead, car door slams.

The woodpeckered tree
Stands upright and full of holes.
Other trees have buds.

Above, a plane purrs;
Below, the road is silent.
I am in between.

Black glove on a branch
Points aimlessly towards the ground.
It seeks its owner.

The road bends ahead;
For now, beyond is unseen.
Then it's visible.

Etched against the sky
Spider branches of the trees.
Look! There's a small bird.

Black birds in the tree
Sit framed against the blue sky;
Cat strolls to the barn.

Blue sky, chirping birds
Languid stream and bright shadows;
Now it's really Spring.

All the dogs are out;
Unseen bird repeats itself.
Robins scout the grass.

Everything is still;
The trees bespeak their silence;
Sunlight falls quietly.

Now the sun greets me;
I walk down the winding hill.
You have to love Spring.

The jagged tree stump
Sits in the shade of the woods.
Spring will not change it.

Weather beaten barn
In the strong morning sunlight;
Tree shadows on it.

Sky is endless blue;
A lone plane cuts its surface
Leaving sound behind.

Shadows on the stream
Make its surface a mirror.
The water is still.

Car from wealthy house
Splutters and farts as it leaves.
Must be a worker.

Three D woods today;
In two days I'll be in France;
Now there's just my road.

Wind calls all over;
An old branch creaks behind me;
Ahead the trees bow.

My four legged friend
Joins me without a mutter;
We each do our thing.

My friend walks slowly;
She waits for me to catch up
And then trots ahead.

The air smells so sweet;
The breeze brings a promise of Spring;
A jogger trots by.

Still water in stream;
There's not even a ripple.
Soon the flood will come.

The monochrome woods;
Thousand brown variations,
Green splashed against it.

The shadows appear
As the sun breaks through gray clouds
And then hides its face.

First sun, then clouds, then...
Each phase seems everlasting.
Now is forever.

A long, lone snow patch
Lies in the shade of the woods.
It just won't give up.

Clusters of white buds
Bob and weave in the soft breeze.
Now I know it's Spring.

Wire around the tree
Rusty encircling the trunk.
Tree has swallowed it.

Dead bird in forest
Lies stiff and gray on the ground.
Oh! It's just some wood.

Picking up garbage;
The sun is mild today.
There's an old beer can.

Lying on the grass,
Rotting, but not fast enough:
"Waste Management" sign.

The clouds are layered:
Puffy white, thin gray on blue.
Woodpecker rattles.

Robins in the field
Hop quickly in unison;
Don't seem to be worms.

The clouds are shifting;
In the sky there is motion;
Below, all is still.

Within the fenced woods
Some of the trees have red paint.
Marked doomed prisoners.

Even though it's cold
Unseen bird chirps cheerily
And lightens the air.

Three trees guard the woods
With signs that say "No Parking".
(Who parks in the woods?)

There, the stream is still:
No ice, no flow, no burbles.
Yet there are sparkles.