Mirrors in Whiteness

Tufts of brown grass
Pop up from the white snow field;
Light plays on the road.








Near the broken barn
Bundles of old clothes is waiting;
Early spring cleaning.










Mirrors in whiteness--
Dark patches of melting snow;
Puddles in the woods.










Quickly she passed,
Disappearing down the road
Like a morning ghost.











Car passes slowly;
Doctor looks at me strangely:
"What is he writing?"

A strange pile of rocks
Clustered tightly on the hill
As if by design.

Jogger round the bend
Youthful with vitality;
Then she disappears.












Huffing and puffing
Fat oil truck climbs the steep hill
With ancient stored heat.