Bird caws fill the air;
The morning sun is blinding.
One week 'til Christmas.
On edge of the branch
Two crows screaming and squawking;
Then they fly away.
A translucent head
Of a white horse or a lamb--
A snow bank sculpture.
A sharp pop rings out;
Breaking twig or hammer blow?
Then all is silent.
Moist dark spots are gone;
In their place, frigid gray ice.
The woods are ringing.
Shadow of tree limb
Etched across abandoned house
Brings it back to life.
Snow bank is gray-brown:
Sand, gravel and frozen dirt;
To think it was white.
Sun is in my face;
Even on this frozen day,
A moment of warmth.
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