dogtrax

Maybe it's not here - not in this time or this place; still, it's worth the search

A full moon's shadow skirting along the treetops as we watch below

An azalea before bloom: a skeleton shaped in twisted sticks

Spring is a painting, dabbed at first, with green; then, flowers follow

A spade, a shovel, a bucket of soil, some seeds; Till the land for Spring

Where fresh water falls, this long river runs and calls to the heart of us

All bits and pieces of trees, scattered on the lawn; small shadows at dawn

for Algot

Little golden songs warbling through tree branches in the key of free

Life, ever so small, living in a world of soil; seen, barely at all

An idea in bloom, begins as a seed, and then transforms into song