sneaking up
on the swallowtail —
Sunday afternoon

rewriting forecasts —
what are the chances
of fireflies tonight?

apologizing
to our plants about the drought —
whispers like rain

another hot night —
the township asks us 
to use less water

pianissimo —
palest possible yellow
breast of a peewee

sharing the hawk —
we show a stranger who stops
so she can see, too

at the hill's crest
we stop for a minute
to let the wind find us

day's end in summer —
our legs telling the story
of yesterday's walk

brilliant afternoon —
we walk along the cliffs
reapplying sunscreen

a shadow crossed us —
we looked up into the blue
and found an eagle

she flies away
I feel my heart go with her —
yellow swallowtail

wisteria tendrils
spanning the space between
their garage and ours

now, for the first time,

the black cherry has fruit —

birds passing the word

watching the jasmine
slowly spiraling upward —
teach me to reach

water lilies
gathering in rafts of green —
a frog tries her song

so fresh we can feel
a little sun in each —
early tomatoes

old love —
she calls me over
to show me the moon

rain again —
the edges of dogwood leaves
begin to ripple

she holds out her hand
to show us just how small —
measuring bunnies

mid-summer drought —
a mother waits for her child
to need her again

every time we look

the face of the sunflower

welcomes a bee

summer Friday —
I move my chair
into the shade

a cardinal couple
checking in on each other —
I reach for the phone

watching the buds
before the zinnias bloom —
sneak preview

if he fireflies
can find each other
maybe we can, too

the red-tailed hawk
circles back around
for another look

finding a snack
between the patio stones —
backyard bunny

tiny sand crabs
taking a peek
at the next wave

our friends' dog
looks at me, ready to run —
I hold the ball high