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.