With Just A Whisper

 

A balmy Spring day--
First week of January.
(Do pigs really fly?)

I have no excuse
To avoid the sun and warmth.
Rooster keeps crowing.

Rhododendron bud
Swells, anticipating Spring.
We are all confused.

Stump, charred black with age;
Burnt by the wind and the sun;
Weathers it again.

Letters on the ground
Surrounded by dead brown leaves--
Mystery message.

Gentle rustling wind
Shakes the slender pine sapling
With just a whisper.

A distant walker
Rounds the road bend far ahead
And then she is gone.

Yawning blank windows
Stare out from the ancient shack
Reflecting darkness.