Her name was Iris,Not Daisy,Not Violet,Not Jasmine, Not Rose,Nor ZinniaShe sprang suddenly in the springAt the first warmth and rainShe came a surprise, a fragile delightSo we named her Iris.

Oak tree, stay with usAnother year. Give us another Summer of sweet shade.June when day lilies bloom orangeAround your trunk,July when bees make sticky honeyIn your hollow,August when a red-tailed hawk roostsIn your upper branches,September when wind makes musicWith your drying leaves,You will be glad with us,Old oak, for having given anotherYear. You'll be glad you... Continue Reading →

Vines crawl the barn wallsGrowing up and someday overInside trees sproutThrough the dirt floorMetal rustsWood cracks and graysBees and wood ants riddle beamsThe prairie reclaims its spaces Chimney from the past.