Connecticut Woodlands

Mold

On tree trunks and branches

such mold may be seen

as to render the forest

a hand-painted green

by a mythical

mischievous elf or wood sprite

as base-coat for winter’s

fine icicle white

so we may, as he does,

make merry with cold,

remember the green,

and never grow old.

Rear Windows

When I look out back

at the nearby woods

I see back into a time

for centuries unchanged

teeming with beings

to each other attuned

and by electronics

unrearranged.

Springtime Mythology

Renewal comes when daffodils

spring up from the ground,

forsythias burst to blossom

and azaleas all abound,

reviving ancient sagas

of Orpheus here above

leading Eurydice up from Hades

not by bravery but by love.

Sounds of Spring

Woodpecker drumming on a hollow log.

Bullfrog humming in a woodland bog.

Sounds tumble through the centuries

by our forebears heard

bringing them into our hearts

without need to say a word.