The slate stones glisten
In the morning's gentle thaw;
First snow and first melt.
Shadows on the snow--
A small world in black and white.
Wind blows through the field.
In shade of the tree
Small pocket of snow survives;
Sun will not find it.
Wood smoke in warm air;
Shovel leans against the tree;
December the first.
Twinkling and sparkling
The stream courses through the woods
While wind gathers strength.
They were babies then--
These young pine trees last winter
Reaching for the sky.
Shiny twists and turns;
Mystery on the pavement--
A cryptic road rune.
Puffed clouds in blue sky;
Sunshine and gentle breezes;
What season is this?
No comments:
Post a Comment