Sun rises over trees:
Sky is muted blue gray;
There is just silence.
Furnace starts to hum:
Not a breeze stirs the pine trees.
It's going to be cold.
Olivia moos,
She knows that Susan is near.
Breakfast is coming.
Dog with high pitched bark
Sounds like angry little girl--
Not too threatening.
Shadows get longer
As sun rises through the woods;
Tall tree tops are brightest.
Still no sign of snow
Half way through January.
(Me complaining? Yes!)
Brown leafed tree in woods
Looks just like the others;
But it's on its side.
When the cars have passed
Road belongs to us again:
Sun, rocks, leaves--and me.
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