Grasping at Shadows

Hollows on the snow;
Shaded, molded by the sun;
Layered with shadows.


Deceptive brightness
Conceals the frigidity
Until I walk out.


Shadows and snow merge;
Blinding white upon the field;
Now, the rooster crows.


Ancient wheelbarrow,
Rusted brown, sits patiently,
Waiting for its job.


A pale ghostly branch
Rises from the blank whiteness
Grasping at shadows.


The woods are nuanced;
Rolling shades of black and white
Beneath the tall pines.

Sparkles on the snow
Only move when I pass by;
Yet they go nowhere.


A pile of dead leaves
On porch of abandoned house--
Perpetual Fall.