Through mist and haze
Through fog and storm
Through raging sea
Through whistling air
Through night and day
Through dawn and dusk
Through fiery sunset
Through tumbling falls
Through sun and sand
Through rock and hill
Through falling rain
Through pouring hail
Through moon and stars
Through silver and gold
Through falling snow
Through glistening fields
Through tree and wood
Through grass and dew
Through flaming mountain
Through rolling clouds
Through brook and stream

Tree Primeval

Upon the mount I stand, a tree of eld,
Deformed, but wise, and humbly bent to earth
From brutal storms that cow the bravest man.
This eve I watch a most ferocious storm,
That cruelly savors thrashing wheat in fields,
And proudly floods the streams with pouring rain,
While thunder loudly crashes high above.
But hark! The frenzied storm now fades away,
The gray and dark, foreboding clouds withdraw
And in their place resides the golden sun.

Fallen on the sidewalk beneath my feet, what remains of early June's glory, blossoms dropped from bursting seeds and leaves full-grown into bravery.
I've driven by this way before. I've driven by every morning for the past two weeks.
But today I am walking home from work.
And I have never been this way before.
There is a creek beside the road. I didn't know. It is a home to a patchwork quilt of little fish. Dark drops against the hazy brown of water from the earth. Somehow they know I am here, and swim away.

Sing your song
oh gentle breeze
chant along
you ocean seas.
Raise it high
you broken leaves
among these great
and flowering trees.
Rivers laughing
hearts cascading
over passing
your masquerading.
Grasses wave
their greeting here
silvery grey and
bluish green
pressing down
beneath your feet.
Sunlight beaming
patterns teasing
the mountain dreaming
deep these things.
Stones to tower
high above
climb among
the growing flood of
wild ivy

though winter had almost gone
and the last remnant of frost
had just fallen from
the leaf
buds.

In the moonlight,
the branches of the old,
country orchard gleamed
like pale limbs, as if waiting
to waltz slowly
through the fields.

A northerly wind
roused the grass
that played beneath
and between
the dancers.

Flower buds,
white as the moonlight,
pink as the dawn,
had just begun to burst,
inviting hosts of bees
to alight on their branches.

This is a picture of the baby broiler chicks I raised in 2003. It's early January, and the temperature outside the coop is probably in the mid-30s, so they've nestled together under the heat of a brooder lamp to stay toasty warm. I like this picture for how content and peaceful the birds look.

There are trees near the side of the road...

Strong and starkly beautiful.
They are filled with gentle strength.
Reaching upwards, dark against
The clear, blue sky.

Straight and true,
The stand curving upwards.
Waiting patiently for spring
They grow strong together.

Holding secrets, memories
and hiding places.
Deeply rooted in the ground,
Firm and unmoving.

Towering above me,
Gnarled and time worn.
All waiting to unfold, to spring forth
In a new beginning, with new life.

In rushing winds
the willow bends
She heaves a sigh
and tries to fend
away the gale
tries not to fail
and let them
pull her down

It rustles deeply
waving now
whispering softly
she takes her bow
and all goes still
a moment somehow
a fading moment
a silent poet
a mother with many cares
beneath her branches
she remembers
all of her long years

The lake by which she stands
reflects her waving hands
and shows the sorry sight
this tree in its poor plight

Rain falls through an open window, scattering
Tiny sparkles in a persistent beat, while
Light shines through an open window, dancing
Across the sill on golden feet

Sounds creep through an open window, whispering
Myriad echoes of the world outside, while
Scents float through an open window, hinting
At fragile rose petals passing by

Wind blows through an open window, feeling
Swaying curtains flowing white, while
Frost sneaks through an open window, beckoning
Silent darkness to bring the night