Weepers bluff

Great black stones grown slick from the rain.

Home circle.

Follow it back to the woods, the clean and clear smell of rotting silver maples resting in the shadows of the hollow hearted sycamore amongst a great bed of clover

Rings of wood

Rings of rain

Hands carved marks deep in the rock

Glowing embers burn still deep beneath the light and air

And at the rising tide of spring i may sit amoung the boughs of my great maple and finally watch unwatched