What Magic is This?

My poor old mail box
Propped like a wounded vet;
Attacked by snow plow.












The smell of wood smoke
Mixes with crisp morning air:
Eight below freezing.

One track in the snow
Splits into two divergent.
What magic is this?









Fence behind the fence
Tries to hold back the snow bank;
All to no avail.












Drooping like thin braids
Bungi cords hang from trash can
Waiting to be stretched.

Four long tree shadows
Sweeping across the snow bank
Reach up towards the house.

Gray fur on the road--
Detached piece of its owner.
How did that happen?








Somewhere a branch falls
With a hollow popping thud.
Passing car won't know.