Make Their Own Bridges

November morning;

Shadow scuttles on the floor;

Insect ? (Or my mind?) 

Furry bump on tree

Turns into a sleek squirrel;

Then a bump again.

Wind chimes are clinking

Keeping time to the wind's song

With their own rhythm.

No cloud in the sky--

Fantasies of a snow storm

Still live in my mind.

Planted on the car

Tree shadows assume their place

Without any care.

As if by design

Tree branches in the forest

Make their own bridges.

Sun drenched mountain path

Leading, as always, nowhere.

(Good enough for me.)

Fern light flourishes

Enhanced by kiss of the sun

And gentle caress.