Ferns Sprout from Its Head

Bright stripes on the snow;
Trees slowly begin to glow
In the morning sun.

Hanging from the tree
A delicate rope ladder
For children long gone.












Ice and water swirls
Under the bright morning sun--
Mix of light and cold.












The bright white birch tree
On fire in the rising sun
Burns so cold and pale.












Does moss ever die?
Under snow it flourishes,
So green and so soft.








In a snow cocoon
The dead log likes in the woods;
Ferns sprout from its head.

The ancient murrain
Sitting on top of the hill
Will outlast us all.

Grizzly stone monster
Wearing its winter whiskers
Stares out at the road.

Talking to myself,
Mirrored stream distracted me;
Lost my train of thought.