Painting the far hill
The sun rises so slowly
But brings little warmth.

A thin ray of light
Slices up Yerry Hill Road
Crossing Ohayo.









In the morning sun
A stand of weeds in the snow
Glows like golden wheat.

Birds are chattering;
Shadows on gingerbread house;
School bus chugging past.

Hollow woodpecking
Thrums against a cawing crow;
Soft coo of a dove.

Behind me the sunrise;
Ahead of me the twisting bends.
I'm in the middle.








A hopping scurry;
An ear, tail, l behind a bush;
A rabbit statue.











They still burst with seeds,
These glowing pods from last Fall;
Just a while longer.