The air hangs heavy and yet I shiver, threat of rain clouds the forlorn sky; high above the palm leaves quiver, the air hangs heavy
Day, no more than a sliver, casts a subtle glow on the path. A small bird tap-tapping on windowpane has awakened me, invited me out.
Fat flakes of snow fall on my face, my lens, disrupt focus – each icy formation a gentle kiss. Oh, Winter, you crafty old man,
Tales of bald eagles entice exploration, cameras ready – Great Blue heron, a woodpecker, nuthatches and chickadee – all grace our lenses.. .. no eagles.
She flows, unapologetic of her girth, does not flinch at barges scoring her surface, nor paddle boats laden with curiosity. Confident in her fluidity, she
Sun slices through slumber – Day, wrapped in cerulean, beckons. Not an early riser, I balk, until sensibility intrudes, argues autumn’s passing – I concede,