The powder floats down

Like an infinite, sheer curtain.

Zoom in

and you can

Follow a single flake

Parachuting through the air

Until it lands and is lost,

Assimilated by the white frosting.

The lawn sparkles

Like the sea.

Pretzel stick limbs are smeared

With peppermint cream.

Every bush bows low

Under the weight

of pure, white snow.

The Sun and Shady Grove

Saturday Mornings on Shady Grove,

the Sun runs fast over

the pavement. High-fiving the low

hanging branches

of trees who are just opening

their eyes.


The squirrels and birds

begin their business first,

finding food

and decorating time

with their songs.


The Sun is higher now

and the magnolias glisten

like the sea,

their shiny leaves

rocked by the breeze.


Sporadic traffic begins.

Cars and cycles driven

by men and women

lowering their visors

(those that have them)

to shield their eyes.


The Sun continues its ascent

and there spreads, like cool quilts, on the grass

our blessed namesake:

for these are the groves of shade.

Rain Beats And Beads

Much of the time,

I live in my plans and my past.

My imagination and memory;

What has been and what might be.

Much of the time, I live in my mind.


But, here, in the now,

Rain beats and beads on the glass.

On the mountain, it feeds the stream

That runs the rock so that trees might drink.

Natural art in the now I must leave my mind to see.