Moss by Bruce Guernsey

How must it be

to be moss,

that slipcover of rocks?—

imagine,

greening in the dark,

longing for north,

the silence

of birds gone south.

How does moss do it,

all day

in a dank place

and never a cough?—

a wet dust

where light fails,

where the chisel

cut the name.

Walking in Winter

What a great, dry winter it has been. I'm sure I will regret the lack of rain this summer and all the Seattle lawns will be browner than ever, but I have been enjoying the sun and my daily walks. The posted pictures are from a neighborhood that I think is called Maple Leaf Heights. I suppose the use of the word "Heights" makes it seem like an exclusive place, but it is not. The Heights neighborhood is filled with Tudor-style homes, probably built in the '20s and '30's, mixed with bungalows and the random post-war box style house. As is the norm in NE Seattle, some of the homes are perfectly manicured and others are a little funky and beat-up. 

Photo #1: Check-out that arch! I've never seen this cedar cultivar used so well; these guys nailed it.

Photo #2: Yes, those are stones somehow attached to that pot. Glue, cement, how did they do that?