Sun paints the tree limbs;
They stand against the blue sky:
Broccoli branches.

Leaning reflectors
Stand opposite each other
Like drunken road guards.

Patches of sunlight
Scattered throughout the forest
Play with the darkness.

Road is bright ahead;
Sun splashed shadows on white house;
Stinky septic smell.

Among bare branches
Birds flitter in the sunshine;
They've no place to hide.

Plane drones overhead
Growing fainter in the sky
Leaving just silence.

It's bright and sunny;
Air is cool and breeze is light.
Is this December?

Bright sun, dark shadows;
Ribbons wave in the brisk breeze;
The stream bubbles on.

It flies through the air,
Soaring, bobbing in the wind:
A single dead leaf.

Red berry bushes
Among bare branches and dead leaves.
Nine days 'til Christmas.

Road is bathed in sun;
Blinding tar lines run down it;
Even dead leaves shine.

Caged dogs are barking;
They're reflecting their master:
Unfriendly neighbor.

Woman strolls past me
Her voice musical, foreign;
Distant memory.

Hawk floats through the air,
Swirling, bobbing gracefully.
Where's unlucky mouse?

The road is shiny,
Trees mirrored in the wetness;
Crows caw in the mist.

A misty rain falls;
Small drops hang from bare branches;
Birds call and respond.

Sky is luminous,
Colorless, filled with moisture;
Plane drones in dimness.

Rain falls in the woods;
Dead leaves catch the tapping drops;
Sports Saab splashes by.

Soft light in window
Cuts through the dark wet morning
But I am outside.

Tapping all around:
Raindrops patter in the woods--
Forest percussion.

Mist on evergreen
Softens and blurs the branches.
Now they're emerging.

Rain catches wood smoke
Swirling it between the drops.
Laura walks her dog.

Planes drone and cars hum;
Traffic above and below.
Blue break in gray sky.

Chickens up the road;
Further down the checked cat sits;
Ducks quack in the pond.

Mushrooms climb the trees;
They form little round white steps
And wait for fairies.

The dead tree trunk stands still;
Covered with holes, dead fungi;
Woodpeckers are done.

The road is silent;
Gray clouds have taken the sky.
Birds flutter and cry.

Dark spider branches
Silhouette against the sky:
Stark black on bleak gray.

Old gray muzzled dog
Looks out under gray eyebrows.
He matches the sky.

Gray road is grayer;
Dark woods grow even darker.
December morning

A soft wind ripples,
Out of place in the grayness.
Does it come from a dream?

Ribbon in the wind
Flaps gaily from a tree limb;
Sun lights bare branches.

Wind across the field
Catches the caws of the crows
And sweeps the sunlight.

Bottle in the stream;
Water bubbles around it:
A clear green stranger.

Dark slats on the road;
Sun shines through the picket fence.
Still, the wind is cold.

Soft motion ahead;
A deer leaps across the road.
Wait! There are five more.

Pale moon in blue sky,
Fainter in the bright morning.
Soon clouds will eat it.

Birds in bare branches
Flutter around like insects
Shining in the sun.

White ice on dead grass
Suspended above the stream.
Stillness over speed.

Long grass is frosted,
Lying white, flat in the field.
December morning.

The brown leaves tremble;
The cold wind sweeps up the road;
Still they do not fall.

Whiteness near the trees:
Small ice patches dot the woods.
The streams are freezing.

The sky is slate gray;
Cold winds rush down the mountain;
Dry seed pods rustle.

The bare tree branches
Reach out like delicate webs
And sway in the wind.

Brown leaf on the road
Poised sharply like a dancer
Waiting for the wind.

Now it it is solid:
Phone book wedged in tree trunk.
Will it outlast tree?

The red barn stands mute;
Three white ducks float in the pond;
Timothy grass shakes.