The beauty of the world is the music it creates.

These beautiful corpses Decaying on the grass These once emerald symbols Of seasons now past, The fierce red The frightened yellow The accepting orange Each joins their fellow For their ultimate end Right here and now None can cling forever To the trees’ boughs, One by one Each of them flies Towards the ground Where ...

The scorching sunshine was overshadowed by the passing afternoon rain clouds. Now the grass, coated with droplets of water, set the stage for an herbivore banquet. Two male eastern cottontail rabbits dubbed Chestnut and Nutmeg by the residence’s high ruler’s daughter squeezed under the fence, entering the yard. Twitching noses greeted the watered grass while ...

The road is wet butcrystals adorn my windowSnow falls on the ridge.Like curtains, it opens to reveal winter’s intentions.

I couldn’t keep my eyes from the windows in the classroom. I taught lessons, corrected papers, assigned homework, and answered questions. But I wasn’t there. My eyes, the windows to my soul, took my attention to the white flakes falling. No sunshine turned them into sequins like a magical fairy godmother. They fell from a ...

When my husband and I decided to move to Savannah, Georgia, we selected a beautiful house. It met all our needs with space as well as aesthetics. The nicest part about the property is it has a drainage pond off the back yard. In this pond, there were a few mallard ducks and several geese ...

1. sunlight pours  through a curtained window – he sighs 2. she moans: her skin sweats in summer’s heat 3. she rubs  her abdomen and whispers a name 4. a child’s laughter echoes across shuttered doors 5. fires burn, people stand on the side of the road 6. she sobs on my shoulder – the ...

The woods sleep with snow My ears listen for spring birds, My eyes long for you As I sit by the window Wishing you could come again

The beaten path is not for me The trail laid out by those before To walk along and see the marks Of the more adventurous,  Those willing to explore   I don my hat and satchel I store tools by my side I swallow fear and battle doubts Towards the forest I go Leaving mediocrity ...

Fingertips of day are losing their grip. Pink horizons darken the sound of a saxophone fades. Stars poke through the black curtain like pinholes in the fabric of time, the moon hovers benign and besmirched its surface pocked and shaded.   Silence is golden.   But there will be no riches tonight screeching interrupts my ...