In each other's limbs:
Two slender entwined tree trunks;
A thin tree tango.

Gray and overcast
Thick sky is pregnant with snow;
Buckets clang in barn.








Mattress and a crutch
Together in the pickup:
Past sleep and past pain.

A tree trunk totem--
Cock-eyes look out on the road--
Nature's Picasso.












Bundled in her coat
She accompanies her dogs;
(Pooches must pee and poop).







Tree once rich with bugs,
Drilled by countless woodpeckers,
Now a mass of holes.

Knotholes stare blindly
Lips curled in a serene grin--
A smiling totem.

Bright red against green,
Above field of faded white--
Seasonal colors.

Where Shadows Now Tread

Blinding bright light;
Shadows etched upon the trees;
All is still and cold.

Shadows mock the sun
Casting down where it is not.
Just negative space.












Bare trees and the fir
Limbs wrapped around each other--
A still winter dance.

A quiet stillness;
Plants tremble in the ice breeze.
No birds are singing.

In. the cold morning light
Tree stumps gain a dimension
Just beyond the third.

Patchwork of shadows--
Delicate veins in the woods
Like my mother's palms.












The ancient stone wall
Lines a path into the woods
Where shadows now tread.

With a flash and crash
Deer hurls itself across road
Leaving just the road.

Even Grass Must Bow

It's below freezing now;
Cow takes refuge behind hay;
Flurries in the sun.








The sun is brilliant;
Cold wind blows through the field;
Even grass must bow.

Late afternoon light--
Small pine tree picks up the sun
Its needles glowing.

Bright patches of light
Illuminate the forest
With a sheen of beige.

Walking hand in hand--
Couple bundled for the cold,
But they share their warmth.

A cross of Lorraine--
Fleeting shadows on a tree;
(Or is it Chinese?)








Light before twilight;
There is no warmth in the sun;
The shadows seem cold.

Now just the tree top
Picks up the setting sunlight.
Darkness creeps upward.








Like little beige stones
Mushrooms huddle together
In cold sun and wind.

Autumn Shadows

Thousand gnarly branches
Grasping in all directions
This November morn.







Dog and his shadow
Stand sharp in the morning light
Against each other.

Laura and her dogs
Walking on the long dirt road;
I keep going straight.

Bright latticed shadows
Lie upon the the quiet house
Not making a sound.







Flowing into woods
Long blanketed shadowed path
Rolled out by the sun.

My pen is broken;
I cannot write my haiku;
Must I remember?

Cave in the tree trunk
For animals or fairies?
We will never know

Square terrier barks
Shaking, jumping up and down.
Some dogs will do that.

Time Has Disappeared

Gray sky, cold, crisp air;
All the puddles are frozen;
Far, far, a bird calls.








Amicable chairs
Ready for conversation
When the time is right.

Ready for winter,
The pine cone hangs from the tree;
New cycle begins.

A cock-eyed mailbox
Waits quizzically for letters.
Does it read them, too?

Through the fence grating
Delicate green vines entwines
As fine as a web.








The sun comes gently
Peeking through the thick gray clouds,
Casts shadows, then gone.

A river of trash
In white torrents down the hill;
Blind eyes are elsewhere.








Nestled in the bark
And flowing from the dead limb
The fungus survives.













My wrist watch is blank;
I cannot see the numbers.
Time has disappeared.

Suspended in air
Three dead leaves on the tree trunk
Attached to a thin vine.

The Wind Does Not Care

The dark inner barn
Seems warm in the icy sun--
Backwards temperature.








Stacked against the house
Rows of wood waiting their turn
To alchemize.

A ghost in the sky:
Last night's moon still lingers on,
Its own reflection








Propelled by the wind
Wood smoke puffs from the chimney
To swirl through the air.

Cold slice of sunlight
Slashes down the thin tree trunk
Cutting it in half.

A thin metal can
Dwarfed in the ocean of leaves;
Its name is "Ultra".








Once this was a house;
Now just the rocks tell the tale
And the old washer.

The three last brown leaves
Shiver on the slender branch;
The wind does not care.

Crystalline tendrils
Suspended over the stream--
Ice above water.

Leap Frogging Seasons

In dark sharp shadows,
Brown cow munches lazily
As sun disappears.

Bleating and grazing
Small billy goat stops to scratch--
Then back to the food.

It's almost buried
The vibrant green ground cover
Now losing its ground.









The gray clouds draw over;
The sharp shadows disappear,
A new world is born.

At the branches' ends
Little green buds can be seen
Leapfrogging seasons.

They say it may snow;
A gray coldness in the air
Might give birth to white.

Above each other
Two shelf fungi face the road--
A mushroom totem.












A single snow flake
Floating gently past my nose
Is joined by others.

Wind in the forest
Rustling the unseen trees
Does not reach the road.

The Wind Calls the Tune

Old faded marker
Sprouts up now from the dead leaves.
Fall exposes all.

Strong wind moves the clouds;
Sun casts shadows on the house;
Then the gray returns.

Sun and clouds play tag--
Flashes of light and grayness.
The wind calls the tune.

The house is for rent;
The windows stare vacantly;
Jumping dog is gone.

The scooter has moved;
It lies close to the road.
Will it ride away?










Wind is all about
Booming echoes through the woods,
Shaking leaves and trees.

Last year stump was king;
Surrounded by tiny pines.
Now they eclipse it.












Blowing randomly
Wind speeds leaves across road;
Then it retreats.

Pointing to the sky,
The dead limbs silhouetted.
What do they foretell?

In little thin branches
The falling log is captured
To hang suspended.

Abandoned bird's nest
Flanked by purple berry clumps
In mass of brambles.