The grove of royal white birches I’ve always loved Casts intricate shadows On the pavement below. Black on black Like deer running at night. A young fern sprout Catches my eye. Something shines But nothing moves. An old plastic bag Flutters limply in the breeze From the high limb of a pine Like winter’s flag […]
March/April 2014
Spring
The grove of royal white birches I’ve always loved Casts intricate shadows On the pavement below. Black on black Like deer running at night. A young fern sprout Catches my eye. Something shines But nothing moves. An old plastic bag Flutters limply in the breeze From the high limb of a pine Like winter’s flag […]
The Crownweaver
Mama frowned and said, “You know, my camellias are disappearing” People who believe in magic can see that magic in the trickling waters of a creek; or at least I can. I began to love going down to the creek in the woods behind our home when I was six-and-a-half. My parents usually took me, […]
