Hushing to the Ground

White has descended;
Squirrel shakes the snow off the wire;
My lawn has burst brightness.

Winter's pale and white;
The snow covers everything.
Praise! Hallelujah!

 

No hint of yellow--
Forsythia's coated white.
Spring is hidden now.

Fence posts have white hats;
They don them effortlessly,
Welcoming the snow.

Still, mirror ripples
Beneath the frosted branches.
Stream whispers softly.

Steadfast umbrella:
Sapling captures snow and light,
Simply by standing.

Falling silently,

A clod of snow leaves the branch,
Hushing to the ground.

Sparkles of water
Dot the snow laden branches--
Sun doing its work.

Where Is St. Francis?

The mist has lifted;
At last the drizzle has stopped.
Now I can go out.

As the light brightens
The sun hints at its presence
Just beyond the clouds.

 

From the wet dead leaves
Shiny green plants have sprung up--
Pre winter fake out.

 

 Rain drops on berries;
Chicken wanders in the woods;
Smoke drifts from chimney.

A whirling of birds--
Urgent cries and silhouettes--
The large hawk takes flight.

Where is St. Francis?
He used to preside over
This mound of dead grass.

This green wilderness;
Thick great marsh of growing plants,
Lies just off the road.

Look! Up in the woods:
Silhouette of a black bear?
(One can always hope.)

Shouting and Chanting

Blessed rays of sun
Permeate the lawn and trees;
Still, the cars swish by.

 

Sounds of young children
Echo from the nearby field,
Shouting and chanting.

 

 This glorious day
Even Mabel's barks are dim;
Rooster keeps crowing.

Blending into the leaves,
Walker dissolves down the road
Into the sunshine.

Now the play is done,
A single file marks the end--
Kids march to the house.

Like a Ghost Returned

 

 A dry empty nest--
Abandoned home in bushes.
Fly away, birdies.

 

 The fog has lifted;
Bare branches shine in the sun;
A small bird glides past.

 

 Alfred ruminates,
Staring blankly as he chews.
What can a cow do?

 

Swelling from branches,
Tiny globes of water shine.
Moment in the sun.

 

 Soaring silently,
Two birds fly across the road;
Land on a tree top.

Without its water
The stream bed still runs its course,
Like a ghost returned.

Hard to imagine,
This squished piece of fur and flesh
Scampered as a squirrel.

Peter's watercress
Still flourishes by the road;
His spirit, perhaps.

Passersby Take Note!

 Snow is in the air;
A canopy of thick clouds
Holds the pregnant sky.

 

Distant crying bird
Made more distant by the glass
Between him and me.

 

A few flakes of white
Float silently through the air.
Where are the others?

 

 
Through the layered sky
A crow sails, calling hoarsely
Adding its darkness.

Even woodpeckers
Ignore these ancient tree stumps--
Holiest of all.

Signpost without sign--
Some things better left unsaid.
Passersby. take note!

The sky grows darker;
Earth is ready for the snow.
No flakes are falling.

Like Ninjas they fall,
So softly, without a sound,
These legions of white.

 

In an Earth's Heartbeat

Brown leaves on the porch
Blend into the wooden boards,
Still recalling life.

Gray, blue and light brown
Color this December morn.
Everything's silent.

There are no shadows;
Shapeless clouds have cloaked the sun;
Only the woods speak.

The two empty chairs;
Empty now always of one
Who last sat in sun.

Pale sliver of ice
Grows in the rushing stream;
Downstream others bloom.

 

It's no longer frost
That snakes along the road side
Touching tree bases.

First, dirt and gravel;

Now a shiny plane of ice;
In an earth's heartbeat.

 

Empty nuts on rock--
Creature has enjoyed the fruits--
Neatly left the shells.