No Shave Will Happen

 

A short burst of sun,
Then the blue gray clouds close in,
And my mood changes.

 

  

Like sparse whiskers,
Think brown limbs poke up through snow;
No shave will happen.

Tossed on the snow bank
Pine saplings barely hang on--
Trials of winter.

A flash of rust red
Turns my head suddenly--
Cardinal disappears.

Slender bare branches,
Bare bushes and naked grass:
Winter silhouettes.

Desiccated leaves
Hang from the naked limbs;
They don't know they're dead.

Wild canine howling
From beyond the mountain top;
They're invisible.

Phantom snow kitty
Watches me from the tree crotch;
Wait! It has no eyes.