A breeze bedazzling through the trees.
Waves gentle against the shore of a dark night.
A phoebe calling. A dog snapping her teeth.
Maple branches grow flush against the screen,
From two weeks of steamy rain.
Soft pine needles downy like, in the distance.
I am trying to pay closer attention to what is
Closer attention to the deep green moss
Growing on the thick tree bark.
Where did I get the impression trees were brown? Instead,
Decidedly, a hundred shades of gray.
@ Susan Lynn Gesmer, The Porch, Summer, 2005, Goshen, Massachusetts