The Mysterious Farmer
Fresh paint
and a newly tended field
and yet
never a soul in sight
Who cares for the farm
in the forest valley
and do they only
work at night?
Always well kept
tidy and clean
and yet not a soul around
surely it’s not ghosts
that do all the work
and yet not a soul is seen
Let It Rain
Let clouds dip
closer to earth
heavy with moisture
ready to be released
let the chill wash
of rivulets and drips
slide down over
flesh and hair
and each
blade of grass
to clean away
the old and create
something
fresh and new
The Little Queen
Giants grow
fat and tall
flanking
and trying
to overpower
to take the show
and snag attention
but sometimes
it’s not about
how much you’ve got
but rather
what you do
with what you have
The Lure
A lure toward chill air
that cools sweat on skin
as the hike comes
ever harder
and altitude higher
Hours pass while
trees grow sparse
and the ground
becomes bare stone
And I hear the call as it
whispers through trees…
Higher
Keep going
Silver Skies
Fluff and swirl
against gauzy film
turns sky
from blue
to silvery hues
As cotton balls
drift
like airy mountains
insubstantial
and massive
sliding from view
The air is cold
Morning Serenade
Birds sweep through
air above water
following air currents
between dives
to catch hovering bugs
their song sweet
and bright
and welcoming
to blue skies
as the sun burns off
the film
of gauzy clouds
Inviting visitors
to sit and stay a while
Twisting the Leaf 