Self Contained Cycle

The leaves are curled up;
Rolled up before the winter;
A bird keeps calling.









Interlocking lines
Framed against the mottled sky,
Carry messages.

The stream is so loud
Rushing hard against the rocks--
Torrential purpose.




















Acrid smell of smoke;
Cut logs piled on the lawns;
Winter harbingers.

Green moss at trees's base;
Above, not even a leaf.
Self contained cycle









Tire, going nowhere,
Lies among the brittle leaves.
Final resting place?

Planes pass in the sky,
Each one with a different pitch:
Celestial duet.