In the dry    fence lines,Tangled in old barbed wire,Strung between wooden posts,Cut and set decades agoBy a rancher's roughened hands,I see the summer's growth Drying flower heads, Drying brown seedsIn wind and heatAmongst it all A Valentine Gray against Sallowing Green.

Above the lakeI sit to watch the wind play with the water.My chair a rock, A great gray giant rockA rock that seems to be poised there waitingWaiting, waiting, waiting...Flat on top, smooth, heavyJust a shore rock waiting for a giant child With his giant father,To come along on a summer afternoonTo chose it -- this rockTo... Continue Reading →

The fog is a white shawlThat wraps around trees, Fills empty bird nests,Hides in spaces between Strands of barbed wire,Cuddles fence posts,Squeezes into mailboxes,Under farm trucks,Blankets rolls of waiting hayIn silence and peace.