
Forests or alleys,
though buried under rubble,
life will find a way.

Forests or alleys,
though buried under rubble,
life will find a way.

Lingering autumn;
an aisle of yellowing trees,
resistant to change.

If clouds were forests,
would humans harvest them too,
once the land is bare?

Lengthy lines of pines,
rainy winter afternoons;
promise of mushrooms.

Little sunshine cones
allure bees in a heartbeat;
succulent affair.