Bubbles
from a wave
now gone

Misty morning

an old man and the stream

burble on

in memory of JHC

pine coned eyes
cold feet
nuts stuck between my teeth

A feather for whose cap
if you dare to grasp
the dew

Flirting with the wind

an old man

points the way

waiting

the wooden seat

absorbs another sitter

into the garden
the first sounds
bees in the foxgloves