Author: Brent

Smoky haze
First rain in days
Patter of footsteps

Wind chimes and thunder
Neighbour lowers the downspouts
The creek bed waits

Out from the birdhouse
Nose, eyes, and angry chirping
Of a red squirrel

Red dresses hung
But not like laundry
Never taken in

To the orange bird:
Please stop your flapping, sit down
And state your name

Dirt tracks through the field
Foxtails soaked in morning dew
Flowing freely

First ray of sunlight
Red spark through the dark green leaves
Matching last night’s end

The stream flowing
Into the pond, reduced
To a trickle

Gulping precious drops
From the rusty garden hose
In the sun-scorched heat

Blue berries and bells
Golden, rung by the picker
Wary of black bears