scent of sweet clover —
settling into the place
I used to belong

loon call
a kayak emerges
from the fog

summer clouds
a kite’s shadow
crosses the path

thunder . . .
a bag lets loose
in the teacup

weeding the borders . . .
I strain to remember
my new neighbour’s name

longest day —
it seems I will be lonely
forever

paddling the shallows
the little boy stops
for every shell

scudding clouds —
the creak of wagon wheels
through Grandfather’s journal

rustling leaves
scent of gardenia
on my cat’s fur

In her sun hat
gardening, she hums
our song