*
muddy trail
yet yellow butterfly floats
so easily
*
tadpoles
a thousand ripples
in the sunlight
*
first smile
opening the new day
a yellow rose bud
*
abandoned brush
wildly in many hues
with my fingers
*
r
*
white cat
high stepping in wet grass
ballet
*
purple cows
in late afternoon sun
homeward
*
*
a light breeze
across an open book
butterfly wings
*
the last few pages
of an enthralling book
stillness
*
*
first fading
the last light of dusk
each ravine
*
rain clatter
across the valley
distant bells
*
*
early snow
turning off the alarm
i watch silence
*
a foot of snow
in one black boot
the snowman
*
*
the dog
pouncing after a gecko
leaves scatter
*
drips and droplets
trickling across my canvas
a light summer rain
*
*
*
unmasking
which of you just spoke
i grin
*
un-silencing
voices we need to hear
i can’t breathe
*
sky glitter
in the backyard tonight
the neighbor’s music
*
**
*
son and daughter
planting rice in a deluge
Indonesia
*
bird shadow
fluttering above the sidewalk
my son’s hands
*
*
new bikini
barely enough to cover
swimming lessons
*
cold water
in the old swimming hole
first plunge
*
*
each trail
where i found a feather
feather collection
*
first day
of hurricane season
lulling dog
*
*
i disinfect surfaces
boiling a bit of water
for tea
*
spicy tamale sauce
mostly still six feet apart
her grin
*
*
maidenhair fern
she changes hair color
in quarantine
*
black dots
at the edge of my eyes
this time tadpoles
*
*
a child’s laugh
through an open window
lockdown
*
two myna birds
screaming crow style fierce
the cat slinks away
*
*
dove chatter
among flickering leaves
i listen in place
*
lingering day
the notes of a red cardinal
on telephone wire
*
*
Stories On The Planet Earth
my daughter married last Saturday. this friday i get a new knee. the two aren’t related. yes, after 50 years a full replacement knee. and my married daughter mermaiding on in wedding attire. life on the planet earth.
*
two days
after daughter’s wedding
still the tuberose lei
*
waiting room
we all sit so expectantly
to be ourselves
*
*
*
An Avocado Cycle
the avocado tree. cut back. away from the house. a month ago. yet January blossoms. appear and drop. with the wind. and rain. today. Sunday. making little difference. this is still the tree. to sit under. occasionally. often.
learning
a frivolous moment
i count breath
last mid-July to mid-October. 137 avocados. a record. for the 31 years. i’ve watched. the cycle. most of the avocados are in the two pound range. most of the avocados. went to neighbors. family. and friends.
still. the sunset gate has an attraction as well. of course. the animals. make use of both.
a pale rose
opening the sunset gate
meditation
*
*
moss dripping
in autumn silence
rain forest
*
ears ringing
i pause in the silence
deep thicket
*
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