Vestiges


nestled between
the snow and log
late fall’s remains

One Of Two


each circle self distinct
bark barrier between
but time and proximity
merge two into one

At The Edge


listening
to the purple
echos

Start


tiny specks of green
cultivating all of spring
profundity of small sensibilities

Buche de Noel

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mushroomed and mossed
the forrest’s
confection of perfection

Vibrations

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attune attention
to the frequency
of nature’s beauty

Fallen

There is no failure in falling.
While the descent may be hard
repose eventually softens all difficulty.
This is the grace of transformation.