
when land meets the sea
he must form a good shoreline–
or his name is mud
–photo by me

when land meets the sea
he must form a good shoreline–
or his name is mud
–photo by me

a brief stillness comes
as summer hesitates to
give way to autumn
–photo by me

the days are too long
the afternoons are too hot
a star is too close

the babbling brook can’t
help but spill its secrets to
the whispering wind
–photo by me

each daisy catches
a drop of sunshine in its
upturned, white-gloved palm
–photo by me

the sun slides away–
featureless silhouettes seem
to squirm and shapeshift
–photo by me

two-faced dragonflies–
they only hang around us
for our mosquitoes
–photo by me

many young pine trees
appear to have serious
attitude problems
–photo by me

trees shake off their dust
and mix it up at the beach–
on their own spring break
–photo by me

nature’s mirrors are
as perfectly imperfect
as our memories
–photo by me