allowing space for air to circulate and the prized woods to dry.
There is a place and purpose for each piece. Beauty lives in utility.
Cosmos
to match their vibrancy and tender hues.
Fallen Leaf
lands on the stairs
Fall has arrived.
Rain Drops
spider web lace
with rain drop diamonds.
Polka Dot
appeared at my feet.
Brown Eyed Susan
marches across the meadow
through the shortening days.
Rock
Now you are solid, holding your place in the granite state.
Height
If I started to climb your branches now, by midnight I could touch the stars.
Pond’s Edge
for a brief moment the tree tops are in reach.
Time
Now as a beam, you measure time
by the nights and days of shelter you provide,
absorbing laughter and tears into your fibers and history.
Dirt Road
that my way home is off the paved path.
The sound of tires on soil is my welcome song.
Shadow
to see the thing that is least visible.
Picasso
Is it wonder or awe or angst that it shares?
Could it be a wooden reflection?
Mosaic
Hive
Now they keep their honey hoard safe in the hollows of old trees.
Sunday Mountain
The wind still holds the echos of the Abenaki’s footsteps.
The soil cradles our carefully tended dreams.
Transition
of the movement
of Summer to Fall.
Visitors
Their other worldly beauty is hypnotic. You need not taste them to receive the magic.
Bench
Watch the dragonflies dance.
Discover the nurture of a moment of silence.
Village
is where the fairies set up their mushroom camp.
Pink
Floating
and grey seems the color of eternity, hang on to hope
for it can keep you afloat and mend your tattered faith.
Run Off
water always finds its way home.
Illuminated White
it must have been reflecting
the heart of the moon.
First Red Tree
the first touch of Fall, a splash of red,
presents itself along the southern bank.
River View
and watch the diamond dance of sunshine on water
as summer slides into fall.
Bridge
above the river, across state lines.
Community knows no jurisdiction.
Wind Chime
that makes the chime sound.
Cement Squirrel
that moves you from spot to spot
to enjoy the views of the garden.
Window Box
not even the high noon sun can wilt away
her pretty-fication.