Monday parking lot

snow falls in lamp light
Slowly drifting from heaven
making driving hell

older

whispers on the wind
     listening to the spider

a week of waiting

sitting in quiet
birds searching through winter snow
listening to trees

Sunday

my thoughts on paper
capturing pictures with words
snow in the branches

the stream

frozen streams whisper
bluejays screaming at nothing
trees heavy with snow

on stand

a quiet so loud
a birds wing flaps with thunder

turkey day

coffee and cribbage
cold wet blue grey morning
anticipation

grumpy pants gultch

bluejay rock is weeping
for the torn trees it once knew
tears fill the track marks

I think every picture is worth 17 syllables

trying

bullet holes in glass
so much pain for no reason
piles of flowers.

thoughts.

When did we give up our wisdom . No one comes to Europe or its descendants for wisdom on how too see the world. They go to yogis, visit medicine men. Visit Zen masters in Japan. Did we trade it for science and technology?

hmm

racing through tail lights
wet grey clouds cover the sky

grumpy pants gulch

blue jay rock sits sad
surrounded by broken stumps
 singing for the trees

Thursday.

my spirit wanders
thinking of past miracles
pondering mistakes

Not a picture but how my day went

Tuesday night

wind talking of storms
the rocks sing their ancient songs
clouds cover the sky

Songs of Sunday

echos of drumming
I can still smell the cedar
Sunday reverie

in the lodge

smell of cedar and sage
rocks gathering heat to carry our prayers

painting

color on canvas
magic wands with paint on them
brush strokes from the heart

Grinding

standing at my job
Falls trees sing a song I feel
wild woods calling

thanks you Basho

smell of wet pavement
listening to Tom Wait sing
thinking of Basho

hmm

rain sitting with me
we remember the old times
dancing under trees

looking up

light bending water
eyes looking through my wind screen
the white heart of rain