Groping tree branches
Bare against the cold blue sky;
I stalk my shadow.

Brown leaves still hanging;
Beneath them the snow is gray.
What season is this?

A puddle of ice
Glistens brightly in the sun.
Jewel in the dirt.

Fir tree in the snow;
Green amidst all of the white.
Moment of glory!

Wedged in a tree crotch:
Old frozen telephone book.
Who's going to call?