They say they'll be rain;
Even the barn doors are shut;
Sky is dark and closed.

Perfunctory bark;
Bird is dark against the dark sky;
Ice pings on the road.

On dark stream water
Falling ice causes ripples,
Breaking the mirror.

Car rushes past,
Tires swishing in the road;
Then all falls silent.

Now the birds are gone;
Woods seem empty of all life.
Ice is everywhere.

Caught in the tree's crotch
Dead limbs hang above the ground--
A wooden embrace.

Rising straight upward
Gray wood smoke untouched by wind
Doesn't even smell.

Rumbling breaks the air.
Is it a fleet of bombers
Or a distant train?