
foggy hilltop:
something moves,
striped by trunks.

foggy hilltop:
something moves,
striped by trunks.

a cloud shadow
dragged over the hill
like a blanket.

nothing moves
on a Summer day,
but sneaky clouds.

sunlit garden
to distant mountains —
every shade of green.


between snowy banks,
a silvery river
slips through cold mountains.


late afternoon sun
penetrates the pavilion —-
causing napper’s turn.

a shade of orange
that doesn’t exist in nature…
yet - there it is!

Sun-sparkles on the lake’s far end
look icy cool beneath blue skies,
but Winter shivers, I suspend,
because late Spring is telling lies.