Keepers of the Gate, the fowl allow us to pass
but as, Geese often do, there is some squawking before we are let through.
oh, what privilege, to watch as, ferns unfurl
to be a participant in that distant world
acceptable breathing witnesses
to organic matters of the day
I find we are blessed within the wooded knolls…
to the scenery that time forgot
Just a stumble down the rabbit hole.
Milky, mixed, substances found in the earth.
Or, within a book.
Co-existing with rebirth, rebirth, rebirth.
Catalyst for a change?
For all one knows.
Careful, careless, creations of still-life in strife.
‘If it is all the same’ no organic notoriety for the change.
‘If it is all the same’ particles keep falling in the ‘race’ to maintain.
As the earth steps back, flows…
ebbs and recedes.
It amazes me the difference between…
‘What we have been given! And, what we feel we have received!’
Sifting thru the rust and the budding weeds.
This is the place to be when wonder begins to seed.
Rummaging, romping, romantics of the forest.
Decadent in their delivery.
Seeking clustered acorns
spurs of last year’s wood.
Never any thought to…rest assured.
Organic manner of giving the land a manicure.
Caustic, a wrinkled delicacy wrapped in chowder.
Wanton for diversity, these colors are one.
Liberals living in shades of gray…when their day is done.
…visibility, not towers but trees.
north of exit seventeen.
Tan in a can.
Hash from a pan.
Single white female seeks a red necked man.
Heaven seeks earth,
in sustainable organic thirst.
The nature of this form of art…
primitive but lasting
flavorful but stark.
Whimsical layered larks.
“A poet’s monochrome is the difference between the things you want…and the things you have to do.”
(Old Depot, Franklin, New Hampshire)