The Snow is Winning

Gray sky, calling birds,
Icicles hang from the eaves;
Scraping snow shovel.

As the sun comes out
It spreads shadows on the snow
And then fades away.












Empty garbage can
Pressed into the dirty snow,
Strap hanging loosely.

Where is the snow now?
All sight and sound is muffled
By the thick pocked snow.

The old wooden fence
Staunchly resists the snow bank.
(The snow is winning.)










Shade spot in the woods,
Even under a gray sky--
Darkly subdued snow.

Once full, round and beige
Fungus is brown and shriveled;
It still clings to tree.

It will snow again--
Sky is pregnant, soft winds blow;
The earth holds its breath.