wandering
where there is no path . . .
a flicker’s salmon-pink tail

Father’s Day
the height
of the lighthouse

making plans
conch shell pressed
to my ear

river breeze . . .
the faint clang of a ringer
on the other bank

sunlit creek
my discarded walking stick
passes me

a new neighbor —
the feel of sand
on a smooth shell

a surfer’s sea
my footprints deep
in the sand

children running
the aged nun’s wimple
flows in the wind

iced tea —
the scent of lemon grass
from her scarf