The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things.
~Lewis Carroll

Recently I took a stroll through the woods on Anastasia Island,

it is often said there are no seasons in Florida

but I beg to differ,
the trees here are as lively and as changing
as any I have seen
while there are more thumps and scurries

and rustling noises between the leaves.

On this walk as the sun began to fade and

I reluctantly left the woods, 

you will see what happened in the sky.
And I am home here, even if not entirely sure why.

From a Season of Doubt

It was late August.
I wasn't thinking of
how a flock of birds
flying west

might search for a canopy
on a yellow, treeless plain
or how their wings might
tip and sway as the granite
patriarchs began to
rise into the sky

Not even
could I imagine
their solace, the trembling
laughter of applause
tingling through the
evergreen trees

when they finally reached
their boughs in the place
I could no longer weep.

It was the birds who knew
how to travel and soar
and equally how to
 nest and stay
how to let the sun touch
down on their warm and
weary wings

And even though
I did not hear them sing
 there were birds everywhere