"For Sale by Owner"--
The sign is tacked to the tree.
Who will own the woods?

I wear gloves again;
The sky gray and overcast.
Could this be April?

Flutter in the field;
Robins quickly hop around.
Cold wind brushes past.

Distant rooster crows;
The stream warbles on its way.
Ahead, car door slams.

The woodpeckered tree
Stands upright and full of holes.
Other trees have buds.

Above, a plane purrs;
Below, the road is silent.
I am in between.

Black glove on a branch
Points aimlessly towards the ground.
It seeks its owner.

The road bends ahead;
For now, beyond is unseen.
Then it's visible.

Etched against the sky
Spider branches of the trees.
Look! There's a small bird.