From walk of Tuesday, February 6, 2018
Thick white flakes falling,
Silent in their multitude:
Snow on the mountain.
When will the snow end?
Always seems like forever.
Birds peck at the whiteness.
Birds in the bushes
Wait for my departure;
Peck snow absently.
Flakes find their new home
In the crotch of bush or tree,
Snuggling coldly.
Old brown fence has changed;
Snow has given new meaning:
White Picket Fence.
Vanishing slowly,
Street sign may soon disappear
Leaving just its shape.
Two friends and a dog
Chat with me and then pass by,
Leaving just their tracks.
Snow laden tree branch
Lifted by bushes' fingers:
Many hands, light work.
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