Haiku.

 

 A night jar soaring

Brown leaves fallen from ash trees --

we all turn with earth

When the morning breeze

rids the lazy leaves of dew --

jumping in puddles

Provo River

The river laves feet

with the frozen stab of snow

now a memory

I'm unsubscribing 

until I'm offline again;

then I might reboot

Acts of God are strange;

his works are stranger still

to those who do not know

the cross upon the hill --

who walk in noonday sun,

and swear that it is dark;

like those in days of old

who scoffed at Noah's ark.