Copyright is held by the author.
First, mountains jump from clouds
Black mounds buttoning down the sky
Then rain, nailing weather to the land
Autographing the slopes with streams
The sun scrunches trees from soil
And butterflies bloom from their buds
Painters peel views from the valley
And farmers write wheat in neat lines
A train chuckles by the berry-freckled bushes
While blossoms season shy pools
I hammer my pen, call all to order
Then, fishing, cast out a full stop.