The Garden Path

My yard—so fully there, so walked over. This willow, this view, every day in every light. Tree weeping, garden tarped, still bare—but nothing about it disappoints.

Stopping by

A long time gone, the past vaguer. Suites of seasons, rivers, poems, skies, quiet rooms. Upheavals, of earth and lives. A lost earring. A trail of decay. Then something new happens.