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Friday, February 05, 2016

In a Snarled Embrace

The earth is waiting;
Fir trees bending in the breeze;
The sky's not falling.

A soundless outside;
A gentle humming inside;
A gust of strong wind.

Leaning on the fence
Even old poles have to rest
Like the rest of us.

Two swings, one ladder,
Unused in the empty yard;
No shouts--no chatter.

Floating on water
Ice flowers, sharp and opaque
Refuse to dissolve.

Forsythia bush
Has caught a fallen tree limb
In a snarled embrace.

Invisible force
Bows and bends the yellow tape
Without a whisper.

Beneath the water
Dead leaves take on new life:

Thursday, February 04, 2016

Stream Water Whispers

Walk of February 2, 2016

Bright the morning sun;
Warm, this winter temperature;
Active, the fat birds.

Amid the tall trees
Bundled forms disappearing--
(Kids at play again.)

Sun hits the dry leaves;
Doesn't bring them back to life.
Small birds keep feeding.

With his sharp eye cocked
Chickadee sits on the rail
Waiting his turn.

Two cats in the sun,
One is watching the other,
Watching  something else.

Stream water whispers
As it flows over shadows
Of tree limbs above.

Outside empty house
Empty chair basks in sunlight
Permeating it.

Frozen in the ice
Dead brown leaf is immobile.
Wind cannot touch it.

Walk of February 4, 2016

He is still trying--
Crazy persistent squirrel.
(No help from feeder).

Gray winter morning;
Sunlight has gone from the sky
Leaving memories.

Truncated tree limbs;
Fur remains of a dead deer;
Gentle cold breeze blows.

Yesterday's rainfall,
Today's swollen, racing stream,
New born glistening ponds.

Painted on dead trees,
Old pale lichen and new moss--
Colonies of life.

Next to blasted stump
Dead mother log gives birth
To green ferns and moss.

Friendly old stone walls
Keep nothing out, nothing in--
Spaces at both ends.

Four tall trees growing
From the same spot in the ground;
(Do they share a seed?)

Friday, January 29, 2016

Discarded Bag of Dog Shit

A gray cold morning,
Birds resting on forsythia;
Not flying this way.

It feels like snow fall
Is just around the corner;
All sunshine has fled.

Resting on the tree,
Wood owl becomes part of it.
Owl will disappear.

There's just a red dot,
Marking where the tree has been.
Giant has fallen.

First flakes of snow fall
Softly without any sound.
Will fields soon be white?

Bright white birch tree stands
Tall to face the coming snow
And shame the gray sky.

Lying by the road
Discarded bag of dog shit
Neatly wrapped, shiny.

In sumac shadows
Small fir tree branch has fallen.
Looks like it's home.

Monday, January 25, 2016

At Whim of the Wind

Rising overhead:
Men in orange uniform
Cutting down the trees. 

Birds flee from feeder
As the sounds from the buzz saw
Envelope the air.

Collette and the kids
Watch the fall of the large tree--
Now, an empty space.

Above the tree line
Plane etches white in the sky.
Birds call around.

Luminescent leaf
Still glowing next to the stream.
It's frozen in place.

At whim of the wind
Dead tree limb hangs suspended;
I swiftly pass by.

A path of bright ice
Gleaming into the forest--
Fairy stepping stones.

My invading thoughts
Abduct and carry me off
Far from my footsteps.