Contributor Posts

A small Wren,
a small branch,
looking for food,
looking for a chance.

A precursor to Spring,
is my ernst prayer,
for I tire of rain,
wanting weather more fair.

Mist to rain,
as I drive alone.
Overcast clouds,
set a dreary tone.

Crawling from the ground,
at night.
Staying there until dawns
early light.

Night crawlers, what
they are,
feeding at night, under moon
and star.

No wind this morning,
it's cool outside the door,
perhaps it won't rain.
We don't need any more.

An occasional event,
during a mind on the run.
Running to daylight,
before the night is done.

Wind in the Willows,
shaking limbs of trees,
a freshet burst of wind,
a very strong breeze.

Soon Spring will come.
A time to sip the wine,
enjoying Nature's beauty,
the beautiful Columbine.

A withered rose,
it's life now spent,
after struggling,
when grown in cement.

Look at me.
How pretty I was.
Now here I am,
once pretty, now dust.

A Rose,
solo flower.
sprang forth
from a
crack, in
the pavement.
A lovely break,
or Nature's way
of mystery.

I wrote this 6 years ago, a different time, a different style

Outward the wind,
in a matrix throw.
Returning to you,
in a bigger blow.

Winds, a blast,
rattling against
a windowpane,
rain trickles,

over sash
and sill.
We should wait,
never will.

The rain splattered
the river danced,
as rain fell it was
Nature's romance.

Air to rain,
water to soil,
makes me happy
and my blood to boil.