The shadows are stark;
Web like tree limbs frame the sky.
Birds call from all sides.

The fat crow swaggers;
He walks on a sunny patch
Sees me and takes off.

At the branches' tips
Small bumped buds start to emerge.
They blink green at Spring.

Tiny white flowers:
A cluster on the brown leaves.
There's a butterfly.

Sun filters through green;
The young pine needles glisten.
The woods are silent

The two old dogs rest;
Side by side they soak the sun.
They won't be disturbed.