Phlox grows wild as moss on a tree
on the north-facing slopes.

A pink dogwood blooms adamantly
in the midst of the greens and browns
of apple trees attempting to crowd it,
searching for a light of their own.

The evening sun throws thick shadows
on the snow-laden mountain
to the south. It looms larger
than before, the sun-touched east face
a beacon in the growing dark.

Farther down the road,
the pale blossoms of the orchards
are alive with lights, as if instead of bees,
thousands of fireflies have arrived.

The trees glow against the hills
and the deep blue of the evening sky
is puddled in the rumble strips
with the day's rain.