Sun shines through the mist;
Behind the trees are ghost trees.
A winter's softness.

A mist touches the field;
Pine trees covered with softness.
A bird sings lightly.

Stuck in a snow bank
A child's pink automobile.
Who will pull it out?

Many "Posted" signs
Hammered hard on many trees.
The wire fence makes sure.

Soup box on the road
Lies crushed from many car wheels.
Where are the tasters?

They bow in the sun
The pine trees of the forest
Dripping sparkling light.

Sun cuts through the mist
Making shadows and light beams.
Illumination.

Squirrel leaps across road,
Then bounds into the forest;
And twitches its tail.

A gray green morning;
Birds chirp subdued out of sight.
Whiff of chimney smoke.

From the snow--grass tufts;
The stream is completely still;
A pause in winter.

Shimmer in my eye;
A small bird lands on a branch.
Breath of silence.

Geese honk high above
Breaking the morning stillness
And splitting the sky.

The pale white birch tree
Seems to grow out of the snow.
Its winter costume.

The sun is pleasant;
Blue sky, white snow and warm breeze.
What a nice surprise!

The stream is quiet
Trickling through the snow banks.
Lazy winter morn.

In the snowy woods
The deep echo of the wind.
On the road--silence.

The old black plow stands
Snow covered and next to the barn.
Will it work again?

Brown leaves green needles;
The old branch leans on the pine.
Past with forever.

How blue the sky is;
How white the blanket of snow;
How green the pine trees.

Brown on brown on brown:
Shopping bag lies in the woods.
Perfect camouflage.

They are glistening:
The wires of the fenced in woods.
The sun trespasses.


A sun drenched snow field;
Shadows fall on the cold white.
Dogs bark all around.

Shadow on the road:
It stands as still as I stand.
Just who could it be?

The old holy tree;
It does not know that it is dead.
The woodpeckers do.

Broken ornaments
Lie snowbound near the mailbox.
Past Christmas message.

High on the snow bank
Old black dog sits in the sun.
Is it warm enough?

Frosted white grasses
Stand up from the white snow field.
A winter garden.

A gray and blue sky;
Hollow wind across the white.
A winter's palette.

White flakes fill the sky;
They fall in persistent lines
And don't make a sound.

The white flakes subside;
Cat huddles near the window
Hoping for some house warmth.

Rock ledge in the woods
Sits high on the snowy hill;
Behind it--the sky.

A brown leaf falls
From a snapping snowy limb.
Survivor of Fall.

Wires cut the sky
And intersect with others.
Electric heaven.

It's winter again;
The snow layers the landscape
Falling still whiteness.

Footprints and dog prints
The snow tells a history
And lets it vanish.

Silently they float--
Countless million snow flakes.
Silently they land.

I walk on whiteness;
Around me all is silent.
Am I in a dream?

The snow plow rumbles,
Churning away the white snow
And leaves a gas fart.

How balmy it is;
Sheets of ice are melting.
Strange January.

The stream is lazy;
It whispers in the warm sun.
The ice is all gone.

Tweety, tweety, tweet--
The bird thinks Spring is here.
Much winter remains.

Woods are still today;
Snow patches belie the sun.
What season is this?

Somewhere there's a stream;
It whispers from the deep woods.
I cannot see it.

Brown on brown on brown:
Shopping bag lies in the woods.
Perfect camouflage.

Crow caws in the sky;
A heating truck whooshes by.
The stench of cities.

Translucent in sun
Thick icicle keeps its shape.
Meeting of seasons.

The rain is all gone;
White and blue are the colors.
It's winter again.

Above the swift stream
A crystal icicle hangs
Touching the water.

First the trees hum loud;
Then wind bursts across the road
Swiftly disappears.

The bushes flutter;
Small birds dance in the branches;
The cold wind whispers.

The trees are so still;
All is quiet but the wind
And the tinkling stream.

Sun/ice all around
The flood rains have subsided
Leaving the winter.

Rains have swept the snow
Engorged streams flow endlessly;
Always the water.

On the left snow banks;
On the right the murmuring stream.
Ahead is the sun.

The ancient tree limb
Still attached propped up and sawed
Refuses to die.

Black cat on a rock
Catches rays of winter sun
Sits still as a stone.

Illuminated
Baby pine glows in the sun:
Glowing green needles.

Pine against the sky
Green on blue and gray on white,
A winter palette.

Nest high in the tree;
Now exposed for all to see.
The birds are long gone.

Faded pink toy car
Left and now covered with snow.
The child is gone too.

Woods are soft today
Water glistens on the ice;
Sun sprinkles the snow.

The two doggy friends
Sniff happily on the road;
Then stop and watch me.

Sun blasts through the trees;
Shadows spring up on the road.
The gray snow turns white.

Shadows on the snow;
White plane streaks in the blue sky;
A dappled morning.

Gray mist descending
Even the snow is off white.
Wetness in the wind.

Are the trees praying?
They lift their stark bare branches
Appealing to the sky.

Power lines/tree limbs
Make cross hatches in the air.
The gray world stands still.

Snow on the tree's crotch
Sits on a patch of green moss;
A high winter throne.

Brown leaves still hanging;
But the woods are full of snow.
Echo or portent?

Brown patches on white;
Dead leaves and earth peek through snow.
January thaw.

High in the bare tree
A lone leaf against the sky
Challenges the wind.

12/25/2005
Glistening road unfurls;
Mist shrouds the trees and snow.
Rainy soft Christmas.

01/06/2006
I smell the white snow;
Two red barns color the road.
Gray clouds float above.

A solid blank field;
The dark stream cuts through the white ;
Unseen plane above.

Grayness on whiteness;
The clouds touch the fields of snow.
Am I in a dream?

Still fork in the road
Nothing's moving either way.
Only my boots sound.

Against the gray slush
A Coke can leans and glistens.
A trashed ornament.

A web of branches:
Tree limbs in the snowy woods.
The gray sky peeps through.

Dog barks far away
Crow caws beyond the clouds.
Unseen serenade.

Specks of white float down;
They dance in the morning sun.
Passing snow flurry.

Wind across the field
Picks up the cold of the snow
And roars in my ear.

One white speck of snow
Disappears into the road.
Now there are others.

Swiftly sunlight flees;
Suddenly everything's gray.
Then poof! Sun is back.

My feet crunch the ice
Then they squoosh the softer snow.
Winter percussion.

Now they're on the porch--
The two grizzled old black dogs;
Always together.

Specks in the sunlight,
Snow flakes driven by the snow.
They're racing nowhere.

Now they are sleeping
Their gray muzzles snout to snout.
The two old dog friends.

Clean bridge of ice
Across the racing waters.
A December stream.

The sunlight is fresh;
It washes the white snow field
And paints the red barn.

On the soft snow lawn
The schnauzer lies and watches;
A brown teddy bear.

The wind is hollow;
It echoes around my ears,
Then it disappears.

Stream is iced over,
Snow covers the dark waters.
Do they flow under?

Bells hang from mailbox:
Shiny green and bright silver.
A Yuletide posting

Straight lines on the snow;
Here a square, there triangle.
Sun's geometry.

The road glistens wet;
Square sign shade on the snow.
The sun is playing.

Bright light on the snow;
Trees cast their shadows starkly.
Car sounds far away.


The stream is quiet;
Faint rippling under the ice.
A distant tinkle.


High on the snow hill
Two black dogs sit in the sun,
Still, part of the woods.


The woods seem endless;
Stark tree shadows on the snow;
All life is muted.


The white hill is steep;
It ripples the woods higher;
At the top: blue sky.


Sky is clear, cold, blue;
The sun broadcasts the shadows.
It's supposed to rain.

Chickens watch the snow;
They see the slanting white lines
From the dark barn door.

Tree limbs are frosted;
The stream winds through the white banks.
Snow falls silently.

Bright sunny morning;
A crisp wind blows in my face.
Somewhere a hammer.

Sun light on the stream
Sparkling the rushing waters.
I grumble aloud.

Ladder in the woods
Lying flat on the brown leaves,
Too tired to stand up.

Car sound in the wind;
Then the car races past me
Leaving just the wind.

Tree limb bends over;
Gnarled branch above the ground.
Ancient canopy.

Spring colors long gone;
Now there are brown shades and green.
A muted rainbow.

Up the sharp steep hill
Mother jogs behind her pram.
Baby sleeps inside.

Faint whiff of a skunk
Drifts from nobody knows where.
Ghost of a fear past.

There's frost on the grass;
There's thin ice near the still stream.
First of December.

Bare bushes rustle;
Ten tiny birds scoot around
Then whoosh to a tree.

The stream flows softly
And tinkles by the road side.
I see a black ghost.

Sun spreads on the fields
Slowly emerging from the clouds,
Like a second dawn.

The trees are bare now
Revealing hidden houses.
Winter strips the veils.

Black dog trots ahead;
He's taking his morning walk.
I follow behind.

A loud whining buzz:
The house takes on a new face.
The smell of cut wood.

Grizzled gray dog barks;
Young black Lab stops in his tracks.
Mexican stand off.

Shadows on the road;
Wind hums softly in my ears.
Then a gray cloud comes.

The woods are humming;
The wind plays between the trees;
The leaves are racing.

The three mailboxes
Stand side by side--one open
Like a hungry mouth.

The stream is rushing,
Moist flower smells fill the air.
Is this November?

Streams rush everywhere;
Here a pond, there a river;
Relentless water.

Who shot this raccoon
Left it to die in the woods.
A strange kind of sport.

Water sounds abound
By the road and in the woods.
Late November's flow.

A frog in the road
Doesn't move when I touch it;
Cold, wet and confused.

The stream rushes down
Brushing away the dead leaves;
A roadside torrent.

Crushed worm on the road
Twists and turns and twists again;
Can't extract itself.

It's damp, wet and gray;
The snow disappears into the fog.
I can't see the field

Ghost trees touch the sky;
Yellow car lights cut the fog.
The stream still burbles.

There is no sun now,
Only the soft endless fog
And the gray silence.

The raccoon is still;
No longer does it whimper.
It's part of the ground.

Two trees together
Their branches are intertwined
Like old wooden friends.

In the beat up house
Colored things scurry about.
The t.v. is on.

Crow calls in the fog;
It is nowhere to be seen.
There is just its cry.

It's noon in morning;
Thick fog hides the time of day.
Snow man is melting.