Brisk crisp in the air;
White frosting in the field.
Loud gunshot echoes.
Incessant rooster
Crows querulously from barn.
Nobody answers.
Lone strand of ivy
Winds around the rotten stump.
Any home will do.
A break in the fence
Providing a new portal;
Mix of "in" and "out."
Thick leaves are drooping
As if to huddle for winter.
My heart is heavy.
Cascading down rocks:
Live ferns, moss, dead leaves and twigs.
The rocks are not changed.
Cool, gray misted sun
Sheds muted light but no warmth;
Still, the road welcomes.
This stump once towered
Over tiny fir saplings.
Now they give it shade.
No comments:
Post a Comment