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sun is out morning clouds and somehow the day is begun, on the horizon a hawk glides with the tip of the wing, if you listen you might hear its cry, beautiful midsummer day, peace finds its song and another year creeps along

When the leaves wither and the birds flock I burrow to dream of warmer days Numb by the cold if not the slumber Time blurs in the woods of phantasy Endless is the hiemal retreat Running through dreams like rivers frozen Inert until the sun gives us strength Not even forever's forever Greener times lasting all the longer

Golden bright of evening I watch the summer near as frost on dewy mornings fades, to disappear, in wet and wild weather and rainbows twice as full I change my clothes to linen and shear the winter wool amid the flies and thistles with shooting new-grown green the same as any year before the sweetest I have seen.

le ciel se replie le saule suspend l’heure l’eau médite encore rien ne se sépare la lumière se répand entre deux instants the sky folds inward the willow suspends all time water dreams in light nothing divides now light spills through the passing air between two moments

i. Morning light has thin walls, across the pond, across the way; the crane has come to greet the sun where the dock meets the water. ii. Midday light has stubborn hope, cornflower, clover, lace and goldenrod; the kingfisher makes his singing home where the treetops meet the big dipper. iii. Afternoon light has slow nostalgia, mossy rocks, creaking trees; the black snake finds a wayward fish where the kelp kisses the nenuphar. iv. Evening light has grief and slumber, scarlet sunsets, bleeding waves; the loon surfaces to charm the moon where the deeps are stained like molten glass. v. Pale light has gentle memory, stasis and gloaming, screen doors; the stars over indigo fathoms... ...the fading dream of petrichor

the winter's fingers under my fur spreading frost over my skin painting complicated patterns just where my heart touches ribs a wolf lost in a frozen maze a soul kissed by the cold marble lips spring blooms on the horizon the border guarded by shapeless bodies colossi painted red white fears blooming with blood mishapen forms of guilt crimson teeth buried in predator's throat I was born for the night but not for the spring one

Breezes piled brown leaves Under and around a shrub Shoots and moths emerge   Thin sheets on bare fields Fog laps at the horizon Sunbeams slice away   A quiet whimper From a hole in an old tree A young squirrel cries   Jonathan Middleton 2 1 2025