Contributor Posts

The smell of Sage,
from brush, blue-green;
an aroma, so good,
it can overcome your sense.
The smell of heated wood,
fills the air, as the Sun
beats down, on Sagebrush land.

Grey is the light
of an approaching Dawn.
Dew is the sparkle
on the grassy lawn.

He hopped across the yard.
He was easy to see.
I saw him clearly,
He clearly saw me.
Did he come on a dare,
Or just to antagonize thee?
We'll never know,
For he won't talk for free.

There are stories written,
about the feathers, white.
What happened to the tales
of feathers, black as night?

The sunlight chases the shadows,
laying deeply hidden,
away from light and will
stay there, in place, until
disappearing from our sight.
Shadows cover the flaws of
the Earth. Flaws here since
the day, God gave birth.
He provided the Sun, Sky
and the Universe, sayeth I.
Long may thee and all your
offspring, whomever they be,
live long and healthy lives.

I am a rabbit.
I'm not a hare.
You may see me
over here or there.
I'll eat your Tulips,
Daffodils aren't my fare.
I travel your yard
and do it with flair.
I visit your neighbors;
I am everywhere.

How many more days will there be,
until an Acorn becomes an Oak tree?

When our first sunny day,
slowly fades to night.
We'll see all the birds
leave, as they take flight.
The Sun slowly slides
down the edge of the sky
with a beautiful sunset
and I ask, "Why?"

A fence line, with crooked rail atop,
wanders across the valley scene.
Dividing the land for all to see
and stop the livestock from
wandering away. The wood is weathered ,
a colored grey, with flecks of moss
and lichen, on the shady side of the posts.
The post is used as a perch for
all the birds, as they sit and search,
for the meal they seek; to keep clear
of starvation; to stay strong
and reduce the weak.
Fly away. Fly away now,
flapping your wings
as only you know how.

He was a small little rodent,
so much smaller than I,
who had made the decision,
he wanted to fly.
To be free from this earth;
so he could fly every day.
He would climb up the tree,
the highest, he would say,
leap from the shaky limb
and would be on his way.
He began climbing the tallest,
the highest he found,
leaping from the branches,
he fell to the ground.
Luck was with him,
on this, his luckiest night,
as he soon discovered,
on this first solo flight.
A few branches, on his way down,
had impeded his falling;
he became the talk of the town.
Be careful what you wish for.
Be careful what you say,
for when you leap from a branch,
it may not be your day.

The Moon is ashine,
beams sifting
through the clouds below.
A silver color; a fine wine,
reflects on all it touches,
for the Worlds to see.
A night without a Moon,
is not where I will be.