This entry is part 83 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

After all-night rain,
the forest floor is soft
and full of give.

A birch log collapses
when I step on it, but the bark
arches back after I pass.

New ferns uncoil,
heads slowly dissolving
into spine and ribs.

This entry is part 82 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

Clouds hide the top of Ice Mountain
and it looks like a real mountain again,
no turbines in sight.

Below, the ugly subdivision
where a black family once woke
to a burning cross.

I find a shed antler on the powerline,
a twisted Y like the bottom half
of a stick figure.

This entry is part 81 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

A small cloud on the cliff
above the railroad tracks—
the shadbush is in bloom.

As I drive up the hollow on
our one-lane road, a red-tailed hawk
passes me going down.

All the spring ephemerals are emerging,
leaves wrinkled and damp
like freshly pitched tents.

This entry is part 80 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

I eat my enemies by the handful:
spicy leaves of the invasive
garlic mustard.

Back home, I strip
in front of the mirror,
checking for ticks.

A squirrel walks past the window
with bulging cheeks,
carrying one of her young.

This entry is part 79 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

Mayapples are coming up:
green parasols shedding
the soil as they open.

A coyote trots across the road,
looking back
over its shoulder.

Above the trembling surface
of the vernal pond,
the first warblers’ buzzy songs.

This entry is part 78 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

It’s cold. Mid-day
and the hepatica flowers are still
only half-open, nodding

on their thin stalks.
My mother tallies them up—
stroke-marks in her notebook.

At the top of a hemlock tree,
a porcupine sleeps in a sunlit
halo of quills.

This entry is part 77 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

The sun comes out
in the middle of a shower,
too high for a rainbow—

unless you imagine
the bird’s-eye view:
rainbow against the ground

and off to the side,
the radiant field lines
of this magnet, Earth…

This entry is part 76 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

The soft notes
of a blue-headed vireo
lure me away from my desk.

Night’s dust on my glasses
turns to a veil of gauze
in the noon-time sun.

The stench of manure
wafts up from the valley.
The vireo snatches insects from the air.

This entry is part 75 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

A chickadee in the garden
fills its beak with thistle down
and flies off to its nest.

I take a closer look:
that’s no down, but my own white hair
from last month’s haircut.

A spring azure butterfly
lands on the blue gravel road
and disappears.

This entry is part 74 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

An oak tree toppled
in a high wind 20 years ago
has rotted almost to nothing,

leaving just the twist of roots—
spokes of a rimless wheel,
crippled star.

As if whatever hardness
kept this clutch from holding tight
now won’t let it go.