A door stands open
 
on an autumn afternoon,
 
but no one goes in.

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
a battle-weary soldier
 
dreams of going home.

 
 
 

Scorching afternoon—
 
the guy across the street yells,
 
“You want a cold beer?”

 
 

A tiny red ant
 
drags a summer afternoon
 
into its tunnel.

 
 

Scorching afternoon—
 
I find some shade, write haiku,
 
and savor iced tea.

 
 

Sizzling afternoon—
 
we savor conversation
 
with homemade ice cream.

 
 
 

Thinking of blossoms
 
on a frigid afternoon,
 
I shiver with joy.

 
 
 

Winter afternoon—
 
on a pathway washed with light
 
footsteps disappear.

 
 
 

California drought—
 
on an autumn afternoon
 
we sing songs for rain.

 
 
 

To the fading light
 
of an autumn afternoon
 
a crow gives its voice.