Carving Out Darkness

Sharp morning shadows
Etch deeply on the tree
Carving out darkness.












Fresh pile of cut wood
Lies bleaching in the sunshine
Storing up its heat.

Miniature daisies:
Asters cluster together;
Unthinking bouquet.

In the bright silence
Shadows lie as still as ghosts.
A single dove coos.












A lone patch of sun
Falls on a rock in the woods.
Its moment of light.

Into the silence--
Punctuating explosions,
The local gun club.

Maroon thrust upward,
Sumac stalks point to the sky;
Tightly clustered fruit.









Brown leaf in green grass
Caught in web of the living.
Others will soon join it.

As If Nothing's Changed

Gray September morn;
Soft light glistens on the road.
A gentle breeze blows.

Tiny yellow light--
Soft beacon glows in the brush--
It's butter-and-eggs.









Crow caws in the sky,
Unseen against the slate white.
Bugs buzz in my ear.











Moss on lichen rock:
Two soft shades of green on stone--
Coexisting forms.









Woods without shadows--
Shiny dead leaves coat the ground..
Sudden stillness falls.

In all directions
They bend and dip--yellow ferns
(An oxymoron)

Yellow and brown tipped
Maple leaves hang from branches
As if nothing's changed.









A metal mantis
Preys upon some flying lines--
Its red head bobbing.

Fall Descends Swiftly

As still as a stone
A form blends into the ground;
Is it cat or earth?









Bristled and thistled
Sharp spikes on the light brown stalk--
Dry and yet alive.












Dead leaves in the stream
As the water ripples on.
Fall descends swiftly.

One blackeyed Susan
Alone by side of road--
Its own company.

Palette of dead leaves
Lain beneath a giant oak--
A gift of Autumn.












Small burst of yellow
Stands out among the green leaves;
Breeze carries others.









Floating to the ground
Dead leaf slides along the road
Scratching to a halt.

Leaf shadows on tree
Are etched sharp, dark and final
Until later wind.

Coming Fall is Here

Bright morning shadows
Cover the new blue flower
Which grows in sun and shade.










Cricket in the field
Warmed by sun chirps merrily.
No creature answers.












Somewhere hammer knocks;
Bird calls out plaintive hoot.
Small bugs are buzzing.

Shadowed woods goes on
Stretching beyond all limits
To where the mind ends.









Two planes in the sky
Fill up the silence below,
Then fade, fade away.

A bright shock of brown
Bursts out among the green leaves--
Coming fall is here.









Shadowed on the ground
Tablet for writing, drawing,
Or just resting here.









Lone mushroom growing
Beneath overhanging rock
Bounces back the sun.

For a Second, Fall is Here

A brisk west wind blows;
For a second, Fall is here.
Shadows are muted.

A flurry of tufts
Bend gently into the breeze.
Hens keep on clucking.

Violet and fluffy
Soft flower crowns the thistle
With its coat of thorns.












Thin blanket of clouds
Filter the rays of the sun
Casting ghost shadows.


Splattered on the trees
From some unknown location:
Green lichen abounds.

Feathered bombardier
Flying at amazing heights
Hits target on road.









Now the sun breaks through
Casting shadows all over;
Caressing wild grass.

Forest is silent;
Just the ringing in my ears;
Then women's voices.

Celestial Ping Pong

The sun is back again;
Late shadows dapple my tree;
All the sounds are hushed.












It's blue thistle time;
Bee sucks summer from the bloom;
Soft breeze waves the grass.












Dragonfly takes off--
Helicopter's prototype,
With its own mission.












Frog kick or open jaw--
Cloud hovers motionless.
Pick up scoots below.

Sunshine at the bend;
White flowers grow in the shade;
Coexistent light.












In utter stillness
Hawk settles on the tree limb,
Blending with the bark.

Grabbing at the sun
Bright flowers return the light:
Celestial ping pong.

Grooves in the tree trunk
Have dark and deep dimensions,
More than merely three.












Copulating clouds
Enjoying scant privacy
Couldn't care less.

Is This the Same Road

Is this the same road?
Lone pine cone lies on gravel.
Am I the same man?









It's blue and white now;
Chicory and Queen Anne's lace
Light up gray morning.

Lighting up the field
Goldenrod marks summer's end.
The stream still babbles.

How could I worry
That this walk might prove too much
When it's just enough?

Black eyed Susan clump
Near a bright bed of white blooms
Both still holding on.

By side of road--
White flowers I never saw
Are starting to wilt.

Unchanging puddle
Still reflecting the same trees
Filled by countless rains.









White, blue and orange--
Three denizens of the fall,
Here at August's end.