Forest Percussion

Will it snow or rain?
Everything seems dull and brown
In the morning gray.

An old spider web
Hangs between screen and window--
Occupant absent.

Alfred checks me out;
Then he goes back to his bales--
Prepares for bullshit.

Curious rooster
Comes strutting proudly to me
Feathered face hidden.

Gray, blue, white layers
Shifting steadily high above.
Below, there is no sun.

Far back in the trees
Woodpecker's hollow rattle:
Forest percussion.

Hiding under leaves,
Discarded Budweiser can;
Ashamed to be seen.

Tiny shelf fungi
Climb the trunk of the dead tree,
Pale, white and ghostly.