Distantly a stream
Echoes like a constant breeze
In the gray morning.
High against the sky;
Far above the clucking hens,
A hawk spins circles.
Lonely white speck swoops,
Swept by gusts of wind:
Snow flake in April.
Faded pink ribbon
Now marking the underbrush
Its mission over.
Like stubborn snow banks
Plastic bags lay on the lawn
Winter memories.
As white flakes still swirl
Forsythia buds turn green--
Meeting of seasons.
A lonely snow flake
Is just an oxymoron--
Now there are hundreds.
Lightly across road
Black and white cat pads swiftly
From the woods to home.
In a sudden burst
Sun breaks out upon the road
Etching quick shadows.
Round yellow fungus?
Nestled in the underbrush
A forgotten ball.
The goats are fatter;
It's not just their winter coats;
They're always eating.
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