Slowly receding
The snow pulls back from the road
To lie in the field.
The stream is swollen
As it flows past my garage.
Sweet smells and gray sky.
Smoke from the chimney
Merges with the blue gray sky.
Where does one begin?
Old tracks in the snow
Have melted and expanded.
Soon they'll be the field.
As the snow bank leaves
The fence waves a fond farewell
Struggling to stay up.
Woods are turning brown;
Gray sky promises more rain.
Washing of the earth
A single puddle
Mirrors the side of the road;
Brings the sky to earth.
Debris of the storms
On the road, field and the woods.
Above, crows argue.
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