Quick! There's Not Much Time

Shadows on the snow
Lie dark, flat and motionless.
Bright icicles drip.

It won't be long now;
Soon the cow will gaze on grass
With a field to eat.










Silently soaring
The hawk sails across the sky,
Scanning earth below.

Beneath the snow bank
Above the swift running stream
Thick roots promise life.


Planted in the white
Green snow board waits for action.
Quick! There's not much time.












Rising through the woods
The former stream bed winding,
Dissolving the snow.










A pair of pliers
Lies abandoned on the road.
Cars pass over it.









As the snow recedes
Trash from passing cars appears--
Found refuse of Spring.












Pages fused as one
Phone book spends its sixth winter
Informing the tree.