The receding snow
Reveals layers of dead leaves:
The passage of time.

White clouds tinged with gray
Move slowly across the sun
But don't hide it long.

The pen in the road
Lies where its owner left it
Has nothing to write.

Cloud above the pine
Hovers full, white and billowed
Then makes way for sun.

Sunlight and shadows
Play quietly on the road;
Just the wind whispers

Lone brown snaking limb
Twists up to the nearby tree
Struggles to survive.

Three speeding bluebirds
Disappear into the woods
Adding new color.