Substance Becomes Light

Bouncing on the grass
Squirrel pokes his nose in the ground
Then keeps on bouncing.

 

 

 

 

My lawn is mushrooms;
Every morning a new batch.
Supply!  Where's demand?

 

Joggers jogging past,
Pounding from all directions;
Cows keep on chewing.

 

Thin vines and dead leaves
Cover the encased journal
On the old tree stump.

 

Asters and dead leaves
Are tangled in the wire fence
Lying near the tree.

 

Small evergreen tree
Slowly covered by dead leaves
Will be everbrown.

 

Sun hits the tree trunk:
Turns it into a shadow.
Substance becomes light.

 

I watch the mushroom
And the mushroom watches me.
What are we thinking?