my secret bower


sitting in the forest

among the great pines

I feel so inspired by

the old gentle giants

of the northern woods


a needle canopy above

a needle-woven carpet

on the ground beneath

a secret bower indeed


they all stand around

like wise old friends


they seem aware of me

as we exchange breath


they’d never judge me


they truly welcome me

but I think that they

wonder why a creature

like me would want to

sit among them always

scribbling scribbling









favorable wind

leaving leaves

the season had ended

the leaves had descended

and I was to rake

them away

so I went out at dawn

to my leaf-covered lawn

when a favorable wind

came my way

now my leaves were

blown high

in the blustery sky

while I leaned on my rake

all the day

and I think that it’s been

quite a favorable wind

but my neighbors don’t

see it that way



In the dead of the night,

When good folk are in bed,

The witches take flight

On their broomsticks instead,

And meet in moonlight

For the Feast of the Dead.


A dark night of dread,

But what does it mean?

When the living and dead

Have less curtain between!

Samhain, it is said,

Is now our Halloween.