on a day
of nothing but blue skies
the swifts arrive

— John Barlow

crimson moon
a wildfire takes hold
of the homestead

— Ron C. Moss

nearly winter
the unopened letter
from his father

— Caroline Skanne

To my Grandson

If one dull summer day you should find yourself in a melancholy mood, go for a walk through the meadow until you spot a green flat blade of tall grass with a sharp edge, and place it taut from the base of your hands between both thumbs, the tip reaching beyond the fingertips with palms touching. Find the gap between the thumbs, pucker your lips and blow with force, slow and steady until the blade quivers and sings.

the wind spoke
and the grass danced
song of the meadowlark 

— Marilyn Fleming