Shadow of a sign
Lies flat upon the tree trunk--
Miracle of light.

Illuminated
One log in the icy woods
Whispers of the spring.










Solitary snow
Guards the front of the driveway--
Refuses to melt.

Crackled ice feathers
Lie in the frozen puddle;
Not left by a bird.

Snow dusts icy field;
Curtain flaps in the barn door;
Bird speeds to safety.

Feathers in the road
Flutter in the icy wind
But they do not fly.

Leaves slide on the road;
Loud roaring comes from the woods.
Today the wind rules.

Tiny flakes of snow
Float by in the iced sunlight
Give a mixed message.

Bursting from the woods
The wind swirls up clouds of snow.
Tall trees creak and bend.









Hidden in the woods:
Rusted brown metal whozit,
Latticed, forgotten.

Underneath the rock
Three small icicles dangle
Untouched by the wind.












Old deserted house--
Blank windows stare at the road;
Inside--more blankness.

Shining on the road
Frozen tire tracks glisten
Drawn on by the sun.

Dead Branches All Around

The first day of spring;
Strong winds blow the layered clouds;
Pines bow and tremble.

Snow field is melting
Leaving small uncertain pools
Rippled by the wind.

By the roaring stream,
Small pool is trapped by tree roots
And whirls round and round.

Bared by the melting snow
Forlorn basketball appears;
It has lost its bounce.









Branches on the ground
Crashing from the tops of trees;
Wind does spring cleaning.








Dead limbs hang and lie
On the rocks and in the woods.
Make way for the spring!









Still the dead leaves cling
Through winter and now March winds;
Are they immortal?












Soft insistent snow
Has pushed back the iron fence--
Nature's persistence.

Robin in the field
Hopping and pecking for worms
Knows not it's cliché.

Shades of old barn red
Light up in the cold March sun;
Shadows on the roof.








Frozen in its place
Melting snow stops its retreat.
Ice returns today.

Bright cold morning sun
Grows shadows on the road;
Bird chirps nervously.

Two cackling crows
Exchange hoarse jokes in the air.
(No one is laughing.)












She's gliding past me,
My silent fellow traveler,
Walking through shadows.

In town, crocus sprouts;
On the mountain, icicles.
Dogs lie in the sun.

Hanging from the moss
Icicles glisten in sun.
And then it's "good-bye."









Scratching behind me
Dead leaf skitters to a halt.
Echo of the fall.

Liquid Mirrors Lie

Road is shiny moist;
Layers of gray clouds above;
Electric wires hum.












On the maple tree
Plastic bottles hang for sap;
Play rope hangs nearby.

Coming round the bend--
Pick up truck with tires whooshing;
Dim lights in the mist.







Clear drops on branches
Hanging precariously;
Small dog wants to play.










Liquid mirrors lie
Reflecting the trees above them;
Road water glistens.













Hill's receding snow
Reveals bottles, cans, cartons:
Man's embellishments.

Honking from the pond
Loud goose signals to others:
"Found a landing place."












Banged, bent, and beaten
Garbage can sits on the driveway;
Did it deserve this?












Sign says it clearly:
"Rassing Rictly Forbidden";
Nature's editor.

Gray the morning road;
Gray, gray the thick cloud hanging;
Warm barn manure smell.

Bottom of the road
Lone blue wrapped newspaper lies.
Above, geese honking.







White turns into brown;
Snow blanket is retreating.
Where is it going?

Head bowed over snow
Stone saint watches winter.
Does it pray for spring?

Neatly on snow bank
Two large round turds have been placed
By a tidy dog.












Surviving winter
Two shelf fungi are now black--
Ghosts of autumn past.

Hidden in the woods
Staccato gun shots ring out--
Hollow sound of fear.











At the edge of snow
Rusty gizmo is revealed
Still doing nothing.

Near the gray snow bank
Crushed plastic bottle lies:
Winter's end debris.

Small birds chirp lightly;
Others swoop to melting snow;
Plane hums overhead.

Wind blows up the road
Carrying the cries of geese.
It seems much too soon.

Snow is receding
Exposing layers of brown;
Spring is still waiting.








The woods uncover,
Exposing soggy dead leaves
And hopeful green moss

Leaning green lawn chair
Resting back against a tree,
There all winter long.

Large brand new mailbox
Sits strangely among old ones;
New kid on the block.








Old stump friends are back
Still discussing the beer can
Thrust into their midst.

By the shade of trees
Ice clings by the running stream,
Its season's ending.

White spot in the air
Joined by others floating by;
There still will be snow.