On a sun-drenched June day,
the Oregon valley sports
a hundred shades of green
among its grasses, crops and trees,
fields of mint and lavender
competing to be more beautiful
than the next in depth of color.
Low on the ground
berry laden plants offer a new green
their leaves masking the fruits within.
Overhead the sky arches
its delicate palette of blue
a backdrop for spring clouds,
some mere wisps of lace
lazing against the blue,
two huge snow banks of white
hover atop the tall firs,
and a lone contrail streaks across the sky,
trailing a jet spewing its vapor.
All this, a painting to be held in waiting,
in one’s gallery of mind, for display
now that June is gone.