ant5

with a tapered stick

the stranger draws me a map

in ditch algae

downstream slowly turning with the leaves a highheel shoe

flowering maple

the gait of horses

after a long winter

first colored leaves

our house doesn’t have

a rag pile

September 11th

we all rise

as the bride enters

summer haze

the distant peak

of Mt. Diablo

cool morning

a trail beaten

through redwood duff

children crowd

the blacksmith’s shack

corded eastern pine

mackerel sky

boats pulled onto the shore

of the lake

winter survey

the stone chimney

of a long vanished cabin