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Friday, December 30, 2016

Songs for the Season

A white whirlwind falls
Slanting across trees and road
As snow descends.

Quiet the descent--
A million snow flakes falling--
Clouds of solitude.

Fence posts standing still
Let the falling snow cap them--
Passive acceptance.

Forsythia blooms,
This time with snow white blossoms--
Its winter garment.

Twice sold empty house
Made more empty by the snow,
Stands desolately.

Mirror in the stream
Shines through the falling snow flakes,
Reflecting the sky.

What little people
Will cross these snowy bridges
Into the forest?

Forest sings in the snow
Its high pitched tuneless singing
Songs for the season.

Saturday, December 10, 2016

With Far Away Swish

From walk of Thursday, December 8,2016

It's bright and dim outside;
Melting ice drips on the porch;
Bird feeder is bare.

With far away swish--
Two cars passing each other;
Then they disappear.

Collette takes her time;
She turns to give me a look,
Then goes back to eat.

They've been here since Spring--
These three stout wooden lawn chairs
Now covered with snow.

My nosy neighbor
Complains about my garbage.
I blow up at her.

Bowing to the stream
Wood fence bends far as it can.
(To see reflection?)

Outside shadowed house
Wood chimes tinkle in the breeze
With metallic tones.

Tiny road side pond
No longer filled with water
Now holds soggy dead leaves.

Wednesday, December 07, 2016

(To Whom and For What?)

Dripping from my eaves,
White clods of snow keep falling
This Pearl Harbor Day.

Falling from the trees,
Large clods of whiteness descend;
Forest is gray/white.

White and wet my path;
Snow and rain mixing on it--
Melting mosaic.

As the snow/rain falls
Drops collect on the branch
To reflect the world.

In the gray gloom
A single lamp light burns bright
Over the trash cans.

In the hush forest
A soft moist chorus is heard:
Light rain and snow clods.

Plastic bag on branch

Anonymously grateful
(To whom and for what?)

Roadside stream still flows
Between the mushy snow banks.
Slush is in the air.

Monday, December 05, 2016

From Colorado

Everything is white;
A bright pall has descended;
Winter snow has come.

My lawn no longer--
White phantoms have taken it
And buried it deep.

Tree is sculpted white
Leaves have fled and snow returned
To rest for a spell.

The fence poles stand tall
Saluting the heavy sky
In their new white caps.

Berries on the bush
Dripping ice, snow and water
Maintain their red cheer.

The wise truckers know
Their journey is secure
Bottom of the hill.

The useless small bench
Remains useless in the snow;
No one sits in it.

From Colorado
This pickup truck has journeyed
To work in Woodstock.

Wooden Waterfall

December 4, 2016

Sunlight through my plants
Is captured in the green leaves;
Singular glowing.

Outside, the sunlight
Touches on the evergreens
And lays on the leaves.

The stream still sparkles
Across the street from my house;
Rooster keeps crowing.

Red berry garland
Adorns the lifeless phone pole;
Reminder perhaps?

Glowing ruby red
In the carpet of brown leaves--
A thrown plastic cup.

With breathless greeting
She passes by me swiftly,
Jogs into the sun.

Cascading down hill
Somebody's discarded fence--
Wooden waterfall.

In the tiny pond
Leaves merge with their reflections--
Through the looking glass.