Ignoring the heat,
 
three sunflowers pop open
 
in a dusty place.

 
 

To a distant place
 
I plan a three-month journey—
 
there, wild dahlias bloom.

 
 

Trickling through the pines,
 
a summer rain makes its way
 
to a desert place.

 
 
 

In a sheltered place
 
beyond the winter mountains
 
a plum tree blossoms.

 
 
 

On Thanksgiving Eve
 
the last Canada geese flee
 
to a warmer place.

 
 
 

On Easter Monday
 
I plant a few melon seeds
 
in a sun-warmed place.

 

 
 
 

In a crooked place
 
I find a flint arrowhead,
 
straight and sharp and true.

 

 
 
 

A great blue heron
 
eyes me warily, then flees
 
to a safer place.

 
 
 

An aspen-lined creek
 
somewhere high in the mountains—
 
I dream of that place.

 
 
 

On the mountain path
 
I seek a place to shelter—
 
autumn thunderstorm.