As the drought deepens,
 
leaves rain down from my plum tree,
 
littering the ground.

 
 
 

Crimson maple leaves,
 
loosened by an autumn breeze,
 
flutter to the ground.

 
 
 

Autumn’s final day—
 
the last liquidambar leaf
 
plummets to the ground.

 
 
 

November’s last rain—
 
the leaves that clung to the oak
 
now litter the ground.

 
 
 

First ripe apricots—
 
quicker than I can pick them
 
they fall to the ground.

 
 
 

barn owl’s hunting ground—
 
the vast expanse of shadows
 
between oak and pine

Why

 
 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
why are you singing spring songs
 
with snow on the ground?

Stream

 
 
 

From the scarecrow’s mouth
 
a thin gold stream of wheat straw
 
trickles to the ground.

Gust

 
 
 

scarecrow’s old straw hat
 
knocked to the ground by a gust
 
of midsummer wind

Flattened

 
 
 

Santa Ana winds—
 
a field of yellow tulips
 
flattened to the ground