It’s Almost Time

It’s morning and winter’s gray stiffness pins me to the dirt. Somewhere, in a narrow crawl space of my mind, there is the inkling of hazy disappointment. It’s the first day of spring and I’m cold. Not chilly. Not in need of a light jacket to get me through the short frostiness of daybreak. I’m

October’s Prelude

Is it not wonderfully strange that even under the dying light of an old summer – amber, sun-hungry birch leafages flit about beds of clover and twinkle in the rays of morning like wind-shaken grains of sand on the beach of a nameless jungle?

You Wait Your Turn, October

Turn away but a moment and fall seizes the land Now the honey locust rests and autumn’s blonde trim hurries about the grove Patience, October! Your time will come

September, Please Don’t Go

A cocktail is best enjoyed on the shore of a noiseless pond as the little forest of bur oaks begins to go bronze.

Thought #11

Sun meets wave, the surface writhes with violent sparkles, and the pond is a crater of boiling lighting.