They Have Their Reasons

 

December 12

How strange the shadows
Falling on this snow crust day.
It's the frozen sun.

 

 My large standing plant,
Leaves, thirsting towards the window,
Drinking in the sun.

Printed in the snow
Foot marks of the meter man
Came by yesterday.

 

Chickens on the road;
They're not choosing to cross it.
They have their reasons.

Touching the swift stream
A finger of ice sticks out
Pointing to the sky.

The mother log sleeps
Covered by her white blanket;
Her decay frozen.

This frozen tundra
Is filled with dandelions
When the Spring returns.

 


The abandoned board
Once served as a small foot bridge
Over the road stream.

December 13, 2014

It's not freezing now,
And the sun looks just as bright.
No birds and no cars.

Shadows mix with the snow:
Bird drops from forsythia,
Floating out of sight.

 

Other side of street--
A yawning road lies between
Where I stand--and there.

 

 Hanging suspended
In the crystalline blue sky:
A single white cloud.

 

Rippling shadows
Fall from the old wooden fence--
Their own dimension. 

 

 Far into the woods
A dog barks repeatedly;
A comforting sound.

 

High up on the hill
A man in a black trench coat.
(Or is it a bush?)

Through the shack's window
A gleaming portal is seen.
(It's really a clock).



 

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