ancient hemlock grove

I find the patch of moss where I once spent the night

cast-iron porch chairs

the paint may be chipping but what fine shadows

fields already green

between this ridge and the next still brown, still blue

two hepaticas

a strand of silk joins their hairy stems

plastic trail marker

the click beetle’s antennae sweep back and forth

trailing arbutus

an eyeful of ratty leaves when I bend down to sniff

traveling together

the Norfolk-Southern logo and a graffiti tag

a line of balloons

beside the campus elms bobbing drunkenly

wood frog egg-mass

anchored to a projecting twig a gleaming ring

slow Saturday

the quarry trucks sit spotless beside the aggregate

between the blue stones

the snowplow pushed off the road yellow coltsfoot wheels

a phoebe catches flies

above the old Black Hawk hayrake on the barn bank