I came home to a downy woodpecker, a chipmunk, and a baby bunny. They were all in the yard together.
Walking leaf, you don’t look like the trees in these parts.
Praying mantis, I see you’ve come to my window again tonight.
I was offered a gondola ride on sewage creek. I said no.
Weeds teach me about the wind.
Daylily, how many fragile ribs guard your seeds?
Fall: Leaves flutter in our sentences.
Rain has turned the sweetgum bark tobacco brown.
My friend is standing in a field painting animals.
That perfect time in the garden when everything is dying but nothing is dead.
Lawn moths are the angels of this abandoned prayer labyrinth.
At the old golf course, two kestrels hunt for grasshoppers.
October: The old crabapple’s leaves are dipped in red wine.
Little blue heron, the lake has made a shimmering replica of you.
Night: We move toads off the road so they won’t get run over.
Beneath the harvest moon, the syncopated call of a great horned owl.
In their appliquéd ballgowns, late-blooming azaleas wait for suitors who never arrive.