From a road, tree lined, I see
the landscape of buried treasure
predícate to be reified, to embrace
and hold its substance, finally
secure, as I walk along under
new branches, children running
passed beside me, their innocence
green as Spring, opens another
prospect, returning to a morning
fog foiling Pacific cypress
leaning to the sea.
c) Jan G. Otterstrom.F.
May 2, 2010