Momiji, Late Afternoon no. 1
Light sifts through the Japanese maple.
There was a time I thought it would never grow.
But in my garden, all things are possible.
The perfume of crushed sage lingers on my fingers.
There was a time I thought nothing would grow.
Crows chatter in the highest birch branches.
The perfume of crushed sage lingers on my fingers,
And I touch the silky orange skin of a California poppy.
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