Forsythia buds
Reach out, yellow, sleek and small.
Sunday's sun is soft.

Sun touches the trees;
Owl hoots softly far away;
Soft April morning.

Building in the woods,
Hammer sounds and cut wood smell;
Then stillness again.

A warm sunny haze
Casts soft shadows on the ground.
All thoughts disappear.

The yellow dog barks,
Waking from his sunny nap;
Then plops down again.

Stream bubbles softly
A breeze whispers in my ear;
A hidden bird sings.

The rooster's crowing;
Goat stands in the sunlit door.
Hen struts in background.

Long morning shadow;
The sun creeps up behind me.
Will it overtake?

Red buds on tree tops
Lit by sun they face the sky
Waiting to burst forth.

One calls, one answers.
Two birds singing in the woods;
A morning duet.

Buds are opening;
The soft sunlight touches them;
A bird sings non stop.

Dozing in sunshine
The sleeping dog jerks awake.
Vigilant, he stares.

Bird sounds fill the air;
The field has a touch of green.
A happy frog croaks.

Lightly the bird darts;
Hops from tree trunk to tree trunk
And peeks out at me.

Brown sphere in the woods;
The sun shines on its roundness.
Is it a puffball?

Small carpet of green;
Tiny forest in the woods:
Miniature pine trees

Young pine tree shimmers;
Sun filters through its needles;
Morning glistening.

There are two forests--
Left side: sun splashed and speckled;
Right side: deep and dark.

A song bird greets me;
Other birds chirp in the trees.
Sun paints the bushes.

Sun light is changed now.
It kisses the road and trees
And licks the shadows.

The woods are quiet;
Sun-mottled green and shadows.
There's a beer bottle.

Stranger approaches
Smiling in the morning sun.
Above, two geese honk.

The woods seem deeper;
Sun sculptures and rounds the trees.
Dimensions of Spring.

Torn bag near the road;
Twisted plastic on stream bed.
Look! It's labelled "...EARS"

Birds sing on all sides;
The air is cold, bright and clear;
The dog barks again.

The young squirrel watches;
It sits still with twitching tail
And then scoots away.

Stone walls in the woods
Almost touch another.
What do they enclose?

Little yellow buds
Bow their heads as if in sleep;
Waiting for the sunshine.

Two dogs in the woods
Rest for a while on a rock.
Old friends exploring.

Old leaf on the road;
Shadow sharp against the sun.
No breeze disturbs it.

The green pine tree glows;
Shadows hide in its branches;
Faint shouts of children.

Robin hops then stops;
It pecks at the sunny ground;
Far away dog barks

The shadows are soft;
They play with the forest sunshine
Green and brown mottled.

Rooster crows proudly;
Sun answers with warm kisses;
Easy work for both.

In the shale: green leaves;
They push out to greet the sun.
White moth flickers by.

Brown leaves are shining;
Sun's rays splash the forest floor.
A chain saw buzzes.

Water is hollow;
Today the stream drinks itself
And burps happily.

The woods are dappled;
Sunlight splashes on brown leaves;
Faint breeze stirs the air.

The shadows are stark;
Web like tree limbs frame the sky.
Birds call from all sides.

The fat crow swaggers;
He walks on a sunny patch
Sees me and takes off.

At the branches' tips
Small bumped buds start to emerge.
They blink green at Spring.

Tiny white flowers:
A cluster on the brown leaves.
There's a butterfly.

Sun filters through green;
The young pine needles glisten.
The woods are silent

The two old dogs rest;
Side by side they soak the sun.
They won't be disturbed.

Warm scented dusk breeze;
Rain full sky is darkening;
Hear the peeper frogs.

Still a patch of snow;
The air is warm and scented.
The sun is hidden.

Soon the rain will fall;
The sky is pregnant and gray.
The warm air is still.

The pink shuttered house;
In windows old lace doilies.
Faded fairyland.

A wrecked "For Sale" sign
Sits on a filthy snow mound.
Both on their way out.

Small blotch on the road;
The body still and crimson.
The first dead red eft.

Small yellow splashes;
They peek from under dead leaves.
First dandelions.

Ahead something waves;
I perk up. Who could it be?
Oh, it's just that flag.

The stream flows gently;
Birds call in the hollow air.
Woodpecker hammers.

Sun breaks through the clouds;
The wind echoes in my ears.
Above a hawk glides.

The sun disappears;
A chilly grayness descends.
The loud stream rushes.

Rustle of the wind;
Fir trees bend and sway gently.
Distant stream rushes.

The wind is rushing;
The lazy brook winds slowly;
The crows keep calling

Small cross in the woods;
It stands on a pile of stones.
What lies beneath it?

The sun hides again;
On the streams are flat mirrors;
Snow patches are dim.

Three birds on a branch;
They sit still against the sky.
Then poof! Off they fly.

Gray clouds migrating;
They leave behind a blue sky.
Hawk sails on the wind.

Mist is all around
Touching tree tops and mountains.
In grayness birds sing.

The woods are silent;
Not a breeze stirs the branches.
Crow caws far away.

The mist is lifting;
Ahead the road is sunny.
Then it's gray again.

There's snow down the glen;
The thick bare trees keep the shade.
Soon that, too, will pass.

Sun splashes the woods;
Brown leaves shimmer and glisten.
Sharp tree shadows fall.

Green ferns are peeking;
They hang over the stream bed
Thirsty for water.