Gray sky portends snow;
Now wind blows on the field;
Cars pass back and forth.

The smell of wood smoke
Curling out of the chimney
Touched my nostrils.










Single frozen drop
Hangs down from a slender branch;
Stream rushes beneath.

Forsythia branch
All brown and twisted brambles.
The buds are hiding.

Clusters of petals
Cling to the mother bush--
Once bright white, now brown.

Beneath an old tree stump
A window to the beyond:
Whiteness of more snow.

Squirrel's always hiding;
Wherever I look, he's not.
I know he is there.

Snow covers the grass
Which covers the ancient rock
Which covers the ground.












Solitary tree
Stands among the other fir--
Brown evergreen?