This morning I walk Bare hands tucked deep into wool Sun as my compass. Notice… Red spots ignite green Five-pointed flames dropped gently. Three placed in pocket. Listen… Caw, caw, caw black flaps To the peak of mountain fir. Trills sing, out of sight. Witness… Impossibly small Droplets on every green blade And Dahlia’s last bloom. When I turn towards home Rays peek over a back gate. Air, heavy with wet Dances in a shaft of light. Invisible, seen.
(video of my turn toward home)