After returning from the endless skies, encircled by long horizons, and driving the visible miles on the plains of Kansas;
After viewing Colorado's bouldered streams and magnificent mountains growing with tall spruces and spreading Ponderosa Pines;
I am surrounded, again, by this wall of green; a thick, humid canopy of Red Oaks and Black Oaks, this density of summer leaves.
The far out crowns of trees are swaying in the wind, brushing the sky back and forth. But down here on the backyard deck, only a breath of breeze gets through. Enough to turn the page of the book I'm reading, and suggest an idea for a new poem.
Gray cumulus sail in like summer ships carrying the covenant of rain. This silver fringe, on a blue-gray curtain, hanging from the cloud base. Like angels waiting; wanting to touch the earth, but only letting their hair down. Soft brush strokes of promise; a gesture of hope.