By Lenore Coberly

A squirrel sees me, stops

each cheek stretched by an acorn,

then disappears under a hemlock,

his drawn mouth, funny, forlorn.

Monarchs crown butterfly bushes,

in their migratory ballet,

then leave the regal flowers 

to bees and dance away.

A house, the art of family,

softened by screens of leaves,

has welcomed the birds who came

to make their home in the eaves.

A peaceful place,

this afternoon town,

before its Monday pace

before the rain comes down.