the seasons ever adjacent
tulips a banner of colors
brightening the wood pile
Bulbs And Cords
Summoning The Power To Bloom
an untold number
of miracles
must converge
Tulip Sun
yellow, glowing, abundance
in these cosmos
creeping phlox encircle you
Work
to bee
unobtrusive
in the beauty
Verdant Faith
leaves clasped
like hands in prayer
plants in praise of spring
Welcome, Welcome
forsythia in bloom
throwing open
the proverbial garden gate
Performance In May
amidst a chorus of violas
hyacinth the prima donna
claims center stage
They Make The Sunshine
let the flowers
light
the way
How Sight Can Be A Feeling
Buddha sees
the beginnings of blooms
behind him
Like Lightening
ivy veins
electrified
with living
Blues
tiny blooms
grace the ground
an echo of the sky
Joy
sometimes joy leaps up
in my heart
like crocus from the ground
Tulips Beginning
an abstraction
of themselves
leaves bloom like petals
The Patience Of A Metal Frog
snow may come again
still the garden will emerge
soak up the sun when you can
Snow Garden
with color subtracted
beauty solely articulated
in line and form
Take The Cue
snow day
get outside
and play!
Imperative
flowers in March
the grocery store
suffices for the garden patch
Apparitions Of Spring
like garden ghosts
leaves appear
upon the icy window
The Buddha Sits
neither chasing
nor evading
what is
February’s Gate
ready to swing wide open
for any and all
kinds of kindness and love
Sneaking By
there below the terrace
the elusive metal heron
keeping thoughts of summer alive
Sensing What Is Beyond Sight
like Mabel
the woods call to me too
beckoning with mysteries and solace
Finding Flowers
dried by time
soaked by winter
and still blooming
Companions
we are
more alike
than not
Ferocious Beauty
the birch
bows down
to winter
From Above
reprieved from freezing
a sun warmed soup
of autumn’s leaves
The Self Defense Of Propogation
like porcupines
coneflowers throw their seed-quills
for self preservation
The Light Like A Kiss Goodbye
sneaking in
beneath the storm
a caress of light and warmth
Steadfast
while garden beds are sleeping
there’s you blooming
in grand abundance
To The Hydrangea
cold
is a kind
of coloring stick