shelf fungi on a stump

even with these special seats squirrels still make a mess

locust leafminers

now the leaves get more of the sky than just sunlight

pale clumps of mountain laurel light our way

all the wild birds are scolding something in the hedge

I don’t notice the hunter standing in a tree

I hold onto an apple core until it turns brown

a glimpse of twisted heartwood mosquito in my ear

the laurel leaves turn pale-side up

in the black cherry snag flying squirrel dung

the trees wear icy collars at the high-water mark

dressed as itself on Halloween

pods twist in the spaces between the thorns