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Monday, January 22, 2018

Deeper than Death

From walk of January 20,2018

Snow bursts touch wind chimes;
Small birds huddle at feeder;
Winter storm has come. 

Between the clear drops;
Small birds come to the feeder--
Dots against the white.

Furious melting,
Persistent as a snow storm,
But much more gentle.

Against the barn door;
Collette scratches her fur cheek.
(She could be smiling.)

Shadows on the snow 
Ripples in the mirror stream;
Mysterious tracks.

St. Anthony's back,
Surrounded by his tall friends,
Unperturbed by snow.

Beneath the smooth snow
Two dead logs are sleeping--
Deeper than death.

At every winter
Ancient boulder gets older,
Sprouting a cold beard.

Ice and reflections
Exist in the roadside pond--
Give a mixed message.

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Back To Back They Face

Between holidays
Birds are still celebrating
In their flurried way.

Where are the squirrels?
Last year a pain in the ass;
Now, a memory.

Waiting in the trees
The bird becomes its branches
While disappearing.

Back to back they face
Covering each other's ass
Like true comrades do.

Outside the steel fence
Queen Anne's Lace husk stands freely;
(To sad that it's dead.)

Edge of the forest
Someone has tied a sign
To forgiving tree.

Shadows in the woods
Are protected by the trees
Which provide safety.

Never frozen tub
Reflects the neighboring trees--
A liquid mirror.

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Never Seem to Catch

Around the tree trunk:
Two squirrels chasing each other;
Never seem to catch.

A flash of bright light;
Shadows emerge on the snow,
Then clouds take over.

Falling constantly,
Sometimes these drops from my eaves
Will take a short break.

Collette's enjoyment
Licking Olivia's butt
Seems to have no bounds.

St. Anthony's back,
Head bowed among the dried plants;
His resurrection.

Trapped in bare branches,
Leaf trembles in the light breeze,
But still stays in jail.

Some random branches
Form a picture or a sign--
A rune on the road.

Leaning on ladders
Two young men patch the barn roof
Keeping out the snow.

Saturday, December 16, 2017

Winter Tug of War

 Tree limbs sway gently; 
Bird on porch pecks anxiously;
Gray sky speaks of snow.

Bird swoops gracefully
At the corner of my eye;
No birds in feeder.

Waiting to fly forth
Birds gather in the bushes;
Know I will soon leave.

Barking in the car,
Little dog wants to get out
And be somewhere else.

Barely shining through
Sun tries to break out of clouds:
Winter tug of war.

Over the roof tops
Thick gray snow clouds are waiting
For just their right cue.

White topped sharp thistles
Seem friendlier in the snow--
Bend down gracefully.

At top of the trees:
Leaves still waiting for the wind--
Their fellows have gone.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

His Ass Must Be Cold

His ass must be cold:
Blue-jay sitting on ice mound.
(Doesn't seem to mind.)

Bright sun, bitter cold;
Outside looks so inviting;
Birds back at feeder.

Lady cardinal sits
By side of the chickadee;
Birds of a feather?

A forest of tracks
Lie just outside my front door;
Birds and beasts alike.

Three snow filled chairs sit
Next to the icy white swing
Waiting for the Spring.

All is frosted now
But the black mirrored stream flows
Untouched by freezing.

White puff ball flowers
Have turned to brown long ago;
White snow reminds them.

High above ladders
A man chips ice from the roof.
(Better stay inside).

Shadows on the hill
Falling up the mountainside
Further than the trees.