A fountain of white
Erupting on my front lawn;
A rooster crowing.









Little blue flowers
Pop up among the dead leaves--
A spray of color.










From a short distance
Fence looks like a solid wall.
Up close it is slats.









The woods are muted;
Shadows pave the bend in the road.
It's cooler today.

A car swishes past,
Out of sight, then memory.
Was it ever there?

Among the dead leaves,
Black form nestled snugly
Lifts its feline head.

Minuscule white buds
Hold tightly to their secret:
What blooms will they be?











Walking into breeze
My memories in the wind.
Dog barks interrupt.

Life in Strange Places

A plane and some crows
Fill up the morning air;
(And, of course, the bugs).

Leaning against the fence
Last year's grass is this year's hay.
But it's still rooted.












By bubbling stream
Small grove of yellow flowers;
Only the stream speaks.












Sparkling on the lawn,
Kaleidoscope soccer ball;
A rainbow of kicks.


All of a sudden
White flowers burst on the trees
Nodding at the breeze.

Woodpecker hammers,
Deliberate "tap-a-tap";
Far morning dove coos.













Mouths in tree trunks,
Fish stare from the living wood;
Life in strange places.


























Fat bushes rustle,
They shake and quiver dryly--
Three small birds fly out.

Talking to myself
Bug finds its way down my throat;
Yichh! Keep my mouth shut!

Tree Spirits and Bicycles

Bright yellow morning;
Puff clouds float under plane sound.
Small flies are buzzing.

Two bikes take a rest
Leaning on a compost pile;
A cow moos softly.

Chattering voices--
Two kids biking with their mom.
Road is vibrating.


Insects are singing--
Voices on the edge of mind.
Road is deserted.









Woodpecker rattles;
Soft breeze comes, goes, comes again.
I walk in a dream.


With blooms, insects come,
Buzzing, getting in my eyes.
Why don't they drop dead?



Old, gray already,
Dandelion puff launches;
Ready for take off.












Rotting tree trunk stands
Next to its Siamese twin--
One dead, one alive.

Whisper on the Eyes

It's a soft morning;
Buds where there were none before;
The shadows are still.










It's barely a breeze--
Just a rustle of the air;
Whisper on the eyes.












Hardy road side chives
Mark the passing of the cars,
Hide green pungency.










Dark against branches,
Still robin is hard to see;
He's part of the tree.

Purring up the road
Bikers head for the bright sun.
Dandelions watch.










In only one day
Leaves have emerged from their buds
To embrace the sun.

Strange mad tea party
Still waits in the deep forest
But nobody comes.

Three fenced in dogs bark,
Answered by mutt in pickup--
Noise in stereo.

With fur glistening
Pooch goes for a spring time swim
As good as it gets.










Bright drop of sun hangs
From dry ancient milkweed pod.
There's nothing inside.

Clouds of yesterday
Have vanished in the blue sky;
Just a white streak left.


Last week in April;
Baby goat comes to greet Spring;
A wobbly welcome.

Tiny blue flowers
Dotting the wide green carpet
Whispering "spring time."











The magic moss lawn
Gently embraces the sun
With a soft green kiss.









Soft morning sunshine
Gently molds the rocks and trees,
Hinting light and dark.


Bird calls on the right
Answered by one on the left.
What do they discuss?

Silver liquid light
Trickles down from the mountain
On the stream's shoulders.












Waterfall of fern
Cascades over the rock face
Draping it in green.

The Sun Sheds Its Absence

A burst of sunshine
Rolls shadows across the road,
Breaks the morning clouds.







Butting baby bull
Playfully engages mom
Who's game for the game.


Back to gloves today;
In two days will be eighty;
(That's fantasy now)

In its own green world
Knob of moss on a tree trunk,
Completely at home.

Clearest where it's not,
The sun sheds its absence
In sharp dark shadows.

Like rotting shipwrecks
Dead logs strew the forest floor;
No place left to sail.










Blown down from the hill
Bleached log rests in road side ditch
On bed of dry leaves.










It's almost earth now:
The ancient rotting tree stump
Melts into the ground.

Even the Slender Vines

Road is glistening;
Hanging forsythia blooms;
Nourishing moisture.









Insistent bird chirps;
Far sounds of children's laughs;
Puddles dot the field.

Pale blue and bell shaped,
Flower blooms at tree's base
Surrounded by moss.

One bird and a plane
The only sounds on the road;
Somewhere a door slams.








You might not see it--
Tiny green dots on branches:
A light spray of buds.

Snaking from the rock
Green leaves bear pregnant strange buds--
Fat mystery buds.










Hanging on a twig
Red eft rests by the road side
Before Great Crossing.

Even the slender vines
Climbing up the thick tree trunk
Burst out with green leaves.