From walk of May 7, 2016
Grayish brown shadow
Scurries into the bushes:
Bunny who wasn't.
A single gold finch
Lights up the air descending
To the bird feeder.
Mist is in the air;
Soft drops of water descend
On top of my head.
An errant seed puff
Snagged in the tines of the fence
Flutters helplessly.
My thoughts and gray day--
Only the woods are singing.
Oh, my monkey mind.
They bloom so sprightly
At the edge of the forest;
(Don't care they're called "weeds")
On the pine sapling
A cluster of brown needles:
Nature's prophecy.
Two signs guard the drive;
Three more standing next to them--
Screaming, "No Trespassing!"
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