A single red leaf
 
foretells cooler days ahead—
 
pilgrimage weather.

 
 
 

bitter iced coffee
 
to help swallow bitter news—
 
dog days of August

 
 

What’s left of April,
 
a few more days without rain,
 
will soon pass away.

 
 

With pen and paper
 
a few days after Easter,
 
I wait for a song.

 
 
 

Winter’s waning days—
 
cherry blossoms yet to come
 
keep coming to mind.

 
 
 

Little grey squirrel,
 
did you stash enough acorns
 
for these frigid days?

 
 
 

Last days of autumn—
 
so tattered is the scarecrow,
 
it no longer scares.

 
 
 

Honking as they pass,
 
geese from six days north of here
 
head to Mexico.

 
 
 

Chilly autumn days—
 
every yellow butterfly
 
has fled my garden.

 
 
 

Last days of summer—
 
the morning flood of birdsong
 
slows to a trickle.