Does It Think It's Spring?

It's below freezing;
There's a white sheen on the lawn.
No sandals today.

Bare forsythia
Stands behind the green pine tree;
Few yellow leaves hang.

Does it think it's Spring:
Swelling rhododendron bulb
Aiming at the sky?

Dull patches glisten,
Lying at the side of road,
Mud puddles no more.

In a silent race
Young deer floats across the road.
Was it ever there?

Slowly, stripes of sun
Touch the ground of the jailed woods;
Then swiftly move on.

Without a whisper
The screw in my glasses fled-=-
Mechanical joke.

No gloves--no option;
Dead brown leaves fill the stream bed
That flowed by the road.