big pine cones in copper bowls
apples and cinnamon
bright moonlight
hot coffee on cold mornings
hawks in the field
soft brioche rolls with butter
sentimental sunsets
Oziline by the Indigo Girls
deer at dawn
frost on the grass
gauzy afternoon light
la escarcha muerde
it is so satisfying to shuffle into the leaves on walks, to hear them crunch and watch them dance on the streets with the wind and the geese and my elongated shadow
small purple plums
plaid-covered tables
the smell of violets
two brown crayons
waving from a train
yellow roses in a vase
braids of garlic
rocking chairs and
warm embraces
the wider our years,
the deeper our regret
soft bandana on my head with grey whisps of hair escaping and silver earings glinting
marbles and sea glass held safely by a small bowl with cracked glaze and poppy seed markings
warm blankets from Yellowstone cradling a little blue truck no longer played with–but forever loved
Yesterday i watched a hawk swoop down
and catch a little field mouse in the brush by the marsh.
It walked with its breast held forward and snow-white
underfeathers fluttering in the crisp wind.
Occasionally, the hawk looked in our direction
with what appeared to be icy superiority and
casual indifference.
But i was aware, that she was aware, of my breath
and my smell and the slightest movement from
the curious pup at my side.
the grey fog
matches my grey eyes,
the various tints on a mourning dove’s feathers,
the shadows in birch bark,
and the worn wet wood of the river docks
the end of an era can be
the passing of a year,
the passing of a day,
or the passing of a single moment
bobbing gently,
his thoughts swim with
the swift river currents
spanishwoods 