A spent yucca bloom holds shining black seeds. The seeds wait to be blown or knocked out, to find soil and water.
Moon in its cradle of pine boughs - that color of blue tinged gold and purple. There is a music with this shade. Dusk is a sad-sweet hour, when I feel an almost floating, even as I hold my husband's hand and my children whoop their warrior cries.
Monument Rock in black and white - the grain of the stone is always slowly moving, though we do not hear these changes. Maybe the dog hears with one white-pink ear cocked left and the other right.
Monument Rock and pine trees in the late afternoon- heat lifting off the stone, a cold wind from Mount Herman in the west.
The grain of the rock, subtle colors of black and rust, a seemingly motionless ocean.
Wild grasses glow with a seemingly interior flame like the people in Vermeer paintings.
We could say it was a golden ball glowing on the bottom, if we didn't know the sun was above us, an interior light, a lantern for fish.
Ice is still on the pond, but it is melting in the warmth of almost spring. It looks like skin with pores. It is a bare whisper as it changes back to water.