CORNER SHEPARD

a gravel voice dirty hands fall and winter in his hair fire eyes looking for a curious glance as he points up signaling the end, suggesting everyone line up under stars and sun as arrows target the weights and measures unlocking the door within you

WHERE ROADS BEGIN

we are the leaves of autumns fall clouds watch over us with breezes shredding softly the passing of summer its more than words on paper as the voice within steps aside the unfamiliar and familiar while time and gravity bend the shadows we are haunted by

CAPTURED IMAGE

Her hand dipped lazily into the fountain. Cloud shadows drifted over the square, shading tourists and children. Summer was yielding to fall. Orange and yellow drinks, wide brimmed hats and tables with lovers settled into a mild afternoon.   The woman at the fountain looked up, shielding her eyes like Cleopatra observing a desert of … More CAPTURED IMAGE

IT’S COMING

IT’S COMING     There’s a change developing without permission.  It alters life and space.  Oceans, sky, and rivers all submit to the oncoming of seasons.   Summer is the briefest of children, Fading in the infancy of its beginning. Warm air and onshore breezes tease us between showers.   Fall changes green into orange … More IT’S COMING

PASSING SEASONS

A homeless empty wind slipped the corner of late August, searching for the last remnant of summer, that final breath of warm air.   Cool nights marked the end and the beginning of another season. Daylight slowly drained away familiar voices and sounds.   The chance of the future depends on the passing of seasons. … More PASSING SEASONS

EARLY WINDS

The wind lightened my sleep into awake. Its voice slapped branches onto my window, scratching at me to get up. A lazy sun gathered a rising strength in the background with blue and crimson clouds, suggesting rain. Leaves brushed into thousands of sounds; music of rubbing and snapping, an orchestra of nature calling. Window edges … More EARLY WINDS

TRANSITION

It was the last days of warm sand. Afternoon shadows lay long and slender. The sun slipped away a little earlier and the clouds appeared thinner from where I stood. Season change is a transition of the soul, a sacrifice without choice; the end of one, the beginning of another.   A rightly authority turns … More TRANSITION