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.