A Palette for Tree Branches

 

A leap year Wednesday;
It is going to snow again
The day before March.

No sun in the sky--
Just the sound of the wind
And the passing car.

A snatch of voices;
Rooster crows incessantly;
Olivia moos.

 

Hanging on the fence:
Beige, single, limp and useless
A lonely work glove.

 On the gray gravel
Shiny blue wrapped newspaper--
Alien landing.

Fertile mother log
Now covered with ice and snow
Seems even more still.

Brown leaf in brown bush
Entangled there since last Fall,
Has no place to go.

Light shines through the woods
Like a fairy tale cottage.
(Does a witch live there?)

The blank laden sky--
A palette for tree branches
Spidered against it.