Autumn colors fade—
The leaf crackles and is gone,
The substance of time.

Pretty pink peekings
Of blooming redbud buttons ...
Springtime sings to tease.

Thunderstorms by creeks;
Campfires under rustling green,
Deep and dreamless sleep.

Lilies of the field—
Do any consider them
Nature's summer dress?

Strong fetch; winter wind:
Like roots of my memory—
Twisted spaghetti.

Cardinal of spring;
Redbird swoops, the harbinger:
Nature's joy ... smush, Whoops!

Sharp whistles and clicks,
Barking in a salty haze;
Dolphins breach to be.

Paw prints in spring mud
Escaping observation—
Prickled hair at dusk.

A sudden cold snap
Interrupts an old goat's nap;
Not ever his yap.

Ocean Dream

She was a child of the sea, not that you would find her constantly swimming in it, but that didn't matter.  Her connection to the sea was something much deeper, more spiritual than mere physical replenishment.  She would walk along the water's edge as spent waves played along her toes.  Frequently, she would turn to look out upon the ocean, and that is all she would do, just look; or so it seemed.  But the pageant that played itself out in the shimmering light dancing in her eyes told of more than just a casual sojourner's glance at a natural wonder. Her eyes told of well-kept secrets, of magnificent wonderings.  And in the end, they told of longings.

Every morning she would walk that thin oscillating line of sand and sea where one constantly threatened to overwhelm the other, only to fall back ineffectively.  Her body seemed at home there on the soft sand that shifted beneath her small feet, mocking the false bravado of salt and sea.  But the yearning in her soul seemed to cause her body to lean like a plant drawn toward sunlight.  She had a need to be part of the incessantly pounding water, embracing it as it came in to kiss her feet, crying out in loneliness as it withdrew.

Wintry froth echos 
On shifting tides tossed and rolled:
Broken Nautilus.

Stone Soldiers

It was a cold place, an empty place.  A lifeless place filled with deathly silence.  I walk past stone faces and try not to look at their vacant, unemotional expressions.  The neatly trimmed grass misrepresents empty hearts concealed behind dark countenances.  The stone faces mock me in their silence, miserly guarding secrets that I'm not permitted to comprehend.  They are unfeeling and uncaring.

I ignore the mortared glances.  My eyes slit at the sight of red, white, and blue contrasting the pale, somber shades of granite and marble.  The more I try to ignore this splash of unseemly color, the more they intrude.  It is only at their insistence that I'm reminded there is something here to hallow, something more than the warm breath of decomposition.

In gardens of stone
Seeded with star-studded flags
Our neglect-me-nots