scent of cut grass lingers after mowing
having met blade, blade having met rock
white petals, on dark plum branches, glow
an indecisive sun, aloof, among drifting grey clouds
filtering greens, shadows, red-black tulips
a dusty swept worm, woken from its crevice dirt, cowers
nature readies to explode in long thin seed-pods
to eject tiny capsules holding all possibility

-cec