Author: Bill Waters

summer downpour — next door the kids keep playing

twin pines only the moon between them

nothing but a dumpster and that brilliant azalea blooming beside it

chaise longue a thick cushion of snow

early morning the tips of the evergreen touched with light

autumn sapling: all twelve leaves orange

rain at last the white egret dances through the shallows

“Barnes & Noble” — in all the round letters bird nests

red pennant snapping in the breeze lifeguard’s whistle

steady downpour . . . cormorants on the snag just the same

winter morning old farmer sowing the icy walk

eating snow crystals from a rhododendron leaf, the tufted titmouse

puff of exhaust hangs in the empty intersection

neglected birdbath overflowing with autumn leaves

lulled by crickets . . . the silence when they stop

summer evening just before the storm breaks

blue heron standing at attention in the shadows

outdoor bench tree’s shadow sits lightly

sudden downpour bee takes shelter in a blossom

cracked blacktop maple seedling sprouting

spring fog weathered snow fence sagging in a field