evening cool:
the dog finds
his favorite bone

pull of the moon
I am not myself
tonight

Indian summer —
so many empty flies
in the spider’s web

autumn sunrise
the scent of sage lingers
in the prayer lodge

clear autumn day
the stray cat washes its face
in a pool of sunlight

flies on the floor
of the lifeguard cabin
autumn twilight

sirens in the night
the widower fidgets
with his wedding ring

jack-o-lantern
the old pugilist’s
sudden grin

maple leaves
a breeze blows through
the branch being cut

what else
do I need to know . . .
pine trees growing from stone