Woodpeckers are Done

 Buzzing of a car,
Sliding by, invisible.
(Was it there at all?)

Outside the bird house
A bird struggles to get in;
But he's much too fat.

The sky is pregnant;
Cold misty drops are falling--
Few and far between.

The naked dead tree
Stands by the side of the road;
Still, birds perch in it.

Woodpeckers are done;
They've mined the tree completely,
Leaving many holes.

In the cold moist air--
Manure smell from the barn,
Warm and inviting.

The stream is louder,
Countless rain drops feeding it;
Tearing through the snow.

They're always playing;
Running after each other;
They'll never catch up.