Yet Trembling in the Wined

Pine limbs swaying slowly,
Picking up the morning sun
In a breath of breeze.

Window in the dark
Peers in from the inner barn
Letting out the light.

A new hidden nest;
Small birds flutter about it,
Making way for the Spring.








White is the color--
The birch, snow, backs of trees,
Toyed with by shadows.

Even now there is shade--
Places where sun does not shine.
Is it cooler there?

The woods are dappled;
Black and white are partners
Under a blue sky.










Still they're hanging on--
Leaves from another lifetime;
Yet trembling in the wind.








What story is there
In these strange and twisted tracks
Turning round and round?