| Yuba Canyon Blue granite, speckled quartz, stony eggs, river rock statues, precarious stacks, like stately rock people, only without legs. Nonetheless, they stand as stoic Balzacs, meditating no doubt on the river's steady flow. Despite the fine view, a static position has drawbacks. For instance, being still eliminates a sense nouveau: though a spot on the beach is undeniably gracious, these sedentary cairns find life's balance touch and go. Hamonton Road black black void bright yellow line dips turns disappears round the bend reappearing startled by headlights barn owl's wings spread flapping into darkness beyond tree glare random raindrops pounding wipers remove slish-slashing their noise a comfort in the black black night yellow line barn owl and me Everywhere an Ending is Making a Beginning Cluster of tender green, spiraling into itself, fern fronds hide glistening rain drops Growing with exuberance from a collapsed hillside, mounds of shapeless dirt. Bright yellow, smattered in the grass among oaks, at first glimpse, a spring flower Closer notice reveals fading mistletoe, fleeing winter's cold. Striped and curling, waving from low branches, it seems a molted feather from a wild swan Reaching to touch, this brittle, blackened leaf crackles with decay. Whistling from the river, musical and soft, rubbing willow branches sing out Engulfed in fast current, they moan, holding fiercely to their roots. |