It is nothing.

Sometimes our dog barks at nothing.
The hairs on her neck bristle and
a little bump forms between her ears.

She's threatened by her own shadow
that she doesn't understand tho
she's been living with it all her life.

Our bird chirps away, oblivious to
the ghosts in the front yard and
the shadows that follow our dog
around the yard.

Perhaps we could send our dog to bird school
so she'd learn what it means to cry wolf.

Or we could send our bird to
people school to learn to say,
"Shh. It is nothing."

Library

Libraries used to be quiet places
where people read books.
Books are not quiet, though.

They speak directly to our
brains and souls.

Now, people talk in libraries,
huddled around a row of computers.
Or they talk on their cell phones,

oblivious to that very personal
tête-à-tête between a book and its reader.

Someday the books may leave to
be recycled into paper towels
and newspapers. The talking will
also leave as the sound waves
dissipate into the ether.

The Death of a Nut

I'll never understand
why my dog Zoe becomes so upset
when a lone squirrel
visits her territory.

I don't believe that
any squirrel ever did
her any harm.

I can't even believe
that in any previous life
any such creature
trespassed against her,
unless Zoe had miraculously
been reincarnated from a lone nut,
buried by some enterprising squirrel,
for a scrumptious winter snack.

Best Laid Plans

I woke up early, really early.
The dogs didn't even get up.

I thought I'd look out the window and
write a poem about nature.

It was pitch black outside.
The only nature to be seen
was in my mind.
And . . . then the phone rang.

Today's plan was changing.
Nature once again was supplanted by
a little forgetfulness, and
perhaps a little
unconscious deliberation.

And the poem about nature . . .
became one about the nature of life.

Greedy Leaf

He said it was a bad leaf,
shooting out from her brothers and sisters
to catch a ray of sunshine.

She had no business on this tree ——
greedy, not a "team player"
and obviously exploiting the others
who so diligently grew up
so that the greedy
leaf had only inches to go
to reach the warm sunlight.

But lo and behold,
inadvertently the
greedy one gave back
energy to the tree, and ergo,
to her brothers and sisters.

The Early Bird

I look out the window
early in the fall morning
and see only darkness.
I imagine the sun still as bright
as yesterday when I groped
for my sun glasses.
I'm in a shadow, so vast
I can't tell where she ends.

In time, though, my eyes adjust
and I see first the moon,
then the stars,
only to be briefly interrupted
by the headlights of an early bird
driving down the street.

Spotty Shadows

The leaves begin to fall,
as the sun shoots through the trees,

casting spotty shadows
on the wood pile,
where each log waits
for another winter
to find out if they will
be carried inside
to face the burning embers.

At the bottom of the pile
the logs are safe from the fire,
and termites and rot
will chart its destiny,

unless, or course, it is
an unusually cold winter.