Wind Eagle Ranch

In the spring sometimes
I wake up to the music
of three or four days of rain
on its way to the ocean
all summer long the stream sleeps
under a flood of stones
and seedling trees take root
in sediment
among the drying weeds

In the fall once
I witnessed the rapture
of leaves, a scattered dozen
that leapt into the sky
soaring away like birds on its
high currents all the rest
lay tangled in blackberry briars
on the side of the hill

In the wintertime
I climb the hill to watch
twilight settle in the branches
of my hollow I carry home
the fallen limbs of the forest
to cut and burn, and smoke
streams from my faulty stovepipe
as the dead wood wakes