The closing days of Summer,
rapidly pass,
perhaps it will rain
and put green into my grass.

The roar of the wind,
through the top of trees,
can be entertaining, as
the tops will twirl and sway.

The Heron
stood motionless
in the ponds
brackish water.
Patiently awaiting
for the careless frog
or curious fish.
This prehistoric bird,
is what it must be,
still in this World.
It won't go away,
from the smell of the water
and it's brackish display
of decaying vegetation,
it smells every day.

Clouds so thick; a marshmellow sky.
A marine push, we were told
which would bring, freshets of rain.
A light mist, which soon it fell,
brought little relief to the parched land,
dry to the hands touch.
The grass crunched as I walked
and plants were, tinder box dry.

Sunset is starting earlier - Autumn will be upon us soon

Saratoga Passage Camano Island WA

It flows
over rock,
gravelly sand,
down hillsides,
it's grand.
Cut through
dark loam,
going to
eternal home,
the Sea.

I hear the sound of Fall in the air
as the Canadian Geese fly by.
Honks in the morning, at daylight;
no other sounds are heard until
they return when it is Twilight.

Dark is the night,
if the Moon is away,
as stars awaken
twinkling their array.

A Tumbleweed, a remarkable plant,
which propogates with a wind aided dance.
Across the ground, wind swept they go,
until stopped by a fence line
or out building, although
the brush will pile high, reaching
up to the sky. The brush has stickers
and will grab on fast, with a
grip from an ancient past.

From picturesque Mediterranean isles to New York’s bustling harbor, strategically placed oyster colonies are depolluting the sea with ease. Read more  -   Photo credit: Peter Yeung

When the dawn breaks,
there is no noise,
except for the Rooster
who crows to say,
"Time for all to rise,
on this brand new day."

Where goes the light
at the end of the day,
when the sunlight has faded
and gone it's own way?

The Sun has risen.
The sky obscured by cloud.
I am happy we have rain,
in spite of the dark shroud
worn on this dreary day.
Perhaps the Sun will appear
driving all the clouds away.

Among the trees of Fir and Pine,
deep within the shadows, no sunshine.
Tucked away beneath the tall trees,
awaits a surprise, which will please.
A pool of water, shiny, Crystal clear
where love awaits and hovers near,
waiting for a single partner to say,
I love you, now have a nice day.

> Recognise the creativity behind crime, then you can thwart it || by David Cropley : Psyche

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It was early,
it was morning,
the Sun yet to rise.
A sound heard,
a tapping noise.
A staccato of taps.
Startled, now awake,
the taps came once more,
rattling the window.
Darn Flicker,
your beak and head,
using as a hammer.
Making all the noise.
I'm now awake,
the noise was intense,
so getting up,
is what I did.

A dead branch
amongst the leaves,
is gray in color,
contrasting with hues
of reddish-purple,
Japanese maple tree.

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.