the tangled branches . go unseen, until the time . when the flowers bloom
a feather’s beauty . cannot be seen if the bird . is still wearing it
a tree that adapts . to its surroundings, grows tall . with little effort
when tied too tightly . a memory can strangle . Jany future growth
a pinwheel will spin . only if it is facing . into a stiff wind
to walk with respect . is to share the path we’re on . without changing it
the migrating goose . returns to a frozen lake; . remembers water
pragmatism dies . in the first warm days of spring . unless there’s wisdom
every raindrop . lands but once, delivering . on its promises
in a wet spring snow . tracks are made; but within hours . will cease to exist
uptown jack 