At sunrise
Silver bark’d Cottonwoods
Silver leav’d glinting
In the dawn breeze,
Pale Russian Olives
Bending to a marsh ditch
Of soft moss,
Murmuring water,
And sentential horsetails.

Birdsong always surprise
The trail rise
From the vineyard yard
Of grape bins
And gray wood sheds,
Which seize
The canope
As its own.

The yard labs
One a yellow, blue eyed guard
And his brindle colored mut
Jump from the loading dock,
Out of their dog-hut,

To meet the old man
Called the ‘ whisperer’
Who walks
Speaks their names,
Gives a treat,
And greets the day.

Along the way
Wild sweet-peas,
 Light pink roses,
And purple vetch
In the thicket tangle of berries—-
Some just beginning
In small, white petals,
Others in lime green, red and black orbs
Sprouting from sharp-thorned burgundy stalks,
Waiting for the sun-ripening.
Sparklers of radiant,
Queen Anne’s Lace
Armored  magenta thistles
Float above
Spiky blue clusters of chicory
And spindly yellow Dandelions—-

The bouquet of Summer
Is his release.

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