everything seems more of itself
with the way the snow
clings and reveals
Dormant Birdhouse
empty and still
faith holds the space
for new beginnings
In The Flowering Meadow
in tandem
the soft caress of blossoms
the hum of insects busy
doing the work of the world
Grumpy
harumph hunched the heron
they never make a box
big enough for me
Flown In
a blue feathered
happiness stopped by
looking for the birdhouse in my soul
Snow Garden
with color subtracted
beauty solely articulated
in line and form
Still
the climbing vine
suspended in motion
green growth still a dream
Sensing What Is Beyond Sight
like Mabel
the woods call to me too
beckoning with mysteries and solace
Always Thinking Of Others
the tree’s
last gift is to home
the lichen and fungi
Under The Crabapple In June
this tiny corner
of the world
lush in peacefulness
A Home
in the protection of decay
the more humble
the more precious
Most Precious Gift
the cheer
of being
near each other