Walking...Walking, walkingAutumn draws me to the forest.Floating, floatingleaves borne weightless on the wind.Searching, searchingfor a leaf of every autumn color.Reaching, reachingapples sweet, small arms stretching.Blowing, blowingWinter's chill-winged wind comes calling.Autumn's end A snowflake falling. *
Gray JanuaryGrape arbor castingcharcoal shadows on the snowGray January
Sparks...Tales whispered tonightby crackling fire light; sparksI m a g i n a t i o n
The small cone...Ninety five degrees and rising,our waffle cone is overflowing,dripping maple walnut on our feet.We wanted just a taste to cool down;now we have two scoops to wolf down.What they call a small these days;takes two of us to eat.At ninety five degrees and rising,even though our brains are freezing;this melting cone will not lick us today.