Not Painting Pictures

Not one car, not one deer,
Not one cow, not one hare.
It’s gotten awfully

Quiet here. Not one fly,
Not one bee. The eagle
Disappeared hours ago.

Rocks, grass, and cottonwoods
On a dark afternoon,
A few dead leaves shaking

From one cottonwood branch.
What are we doing here
That’s meaningful pattern?

All these simple features,
What are we doing here
If not painting pictures?