A nation of larch
defies being evergreen.
A golden protest!

Smoke and a mirror;
Mist rises in early morn.
The lake is magic.

Birches in brisk air:
Scattered rows of white matches
clinging to last flame.

Rows of red fingers
interlock in rev’rent grace.
sumac radiance

wind swirling tall pines:
The gravel is carpeted
in fresh, amber shag.

flickers and robins
As orange breasts herald spring,
yell’ wings lead the fall.

those wild crimson lips
kiss the shrubs where roses grew,
bid farewell to green

cooling, hazy air
dampens the greens and the golds;
now come flecks of white.

An eagle takes flight
from a feast of road killed deer.
Such grace amid gore.

Two days of weak mist
have finally turned to rain,
refreshing drab hues.

In the hunt for deer
tranquility seizes me.
Stillness in the woods.