Callous

as it carves an arc
the scythe knows not of the grass
or cares of its fate

autumn wind
swirling oak leaves
carried aloft

Bump

a cavernous void
of fears and uncertainty
filling drop by drop

darkening forest
a deep growl
in the distance

Perspective

patiently waiting
the river of time seems to
slow to a trickle

mayflies
in the pond
a snapping turtle

Raptor

a kestrel soaring
circling on warm updrafts
focused on its prey

wings swept
plummeting
earthward

Perspective

spying Earth from space
a hard reminder of our
insignificance

a sand grain
amidst the
multitude

Return

the clinking of ice
he signals the bartender
for just one more drink

false dawn
an owl returning
to it’s nest

Iron

toiling at the fire
sweat rolls off the smithy’s face
and turns into steam

wide oak boughs
shadows
cross the forge

Morning

concentric ripples
spreading across the surface
of a misty lake

lakeshore
a striped bass
breaks the surface

details

the weathered old man
makes peace with the universe
tending his bonsai

fiddlehead ferns-
seeking god in
the golden ratio

Orlando

blinded by hatred
enrobed in the ignorance
of what love can be

midnight-
groping for
the light