Offering

Reposting this from last year in honor of my deep gratitude for the simple gifts I've been given.

There's a cat in my lap on a cold and cloudy morning
and tea from a place I have never been,

wooden chairs, wooden floors, wooden tables 
from trees I had no hand in planting,

water from the earth pumped by a well
I did not install, 

apples I did not grow in a bowl I did not turn,
milk and cheese from cows I did not raise,

hay I did not bale 
in the barn I did not build,

birds' winter songs I did not write,
snowy tracks left by foxes I have never met.

All is gift.
Gratitude my offering back.

Identity

In summer's green they look alike.
Only the shapes differ.

But at the crowning of each short life
their true selves are revealed
before floating away
forever.

               Gold
                              Crimson
   Orange   
                                      Magenta

                    Pink
  Purple
                               Maroon

             Yellow

Who are you beneath the mask
you wear for the world?

Autumn Evening on Pine Street

 A simple poem for afterward

Sluggish crickets chirping in the meadow,
slowing cadence in the dark.

Crunching footsteps in the woodland,
doe or buck in crunchy leaves.

Soft rustling through front-yard asters,
stealthy foraging while others sleep.

Great horned owls' courtship concert
drifting across the frosted field.

Breezes sighing in bare branches,
whispers of the coming chill.

The season's evensong.
November lullaby.