A white sheet of light
Silhouettes the trees and field
And then vanishes.

Cast Chirps and Shadows

Cow stands in the door
Watching crows peck the lawn.
It's live and let live.

Field was filled with snow;
Now there's not even a trace.
Was it all a dream?



On the higher branches
Buds begin their swelling,
Closer to the sun.

A sharp acrid smell;
Smoke billows from behind the house--
Someone's spring burning.

The sun and the birds
Emerge as the clouds move on,
Cast chirps and shadows.

Distant rooster crows,
Its cry rolling up the hill
Piercing the shadows.







The tree stump monster
Clenched the stone hard all winter
But did not eat it.

Light green, translucent
Fern contrasts with the dark ground
Soaking up the sun.

The road is silent;
All sounds from high above:
Crows caw and birds chirp.

A black silhouette,
Robin sits still on a branch
Chirping endlessly.










Clear, luminescent,
Plastic ball hangs from a branch
Reflecting the sun.

Framed against the sky
A strange spherical nests sits;
What creatures built it?

On the branches' tips
The first yellow buds appear--
Come forsythia!









Gathered in the woods
A neat display of refuse:
Funky tea party.









Sitting on the road
Discarded McDonald's bag
Fell short of the woods.

Sparkling in the sun
Two small drops of morning dew
Hang from the thin branch.

Last fall they were full,
Lush and white round tree fungi.
They've become themselves.

Now my hands are bare;
Sun glistens on the moist road;
Goose honks through the trees.

Swooping down the hill
Bicyclist races towards me:
Clash of energies.

Munching, tail upward
Cow poops while eating breakfast--
Efficient bovine.

The First Blooms of Spring

A thick still grayness
Permeates the morning air.
Robin meditates.









The birds are frantic;
Chirps in many different tones;
Flights across the road.

Rake lies on the lawn,
Teeth filled with pine cones and leaves,
To tired to go on.

In the dark morning
Color bursts from the window--
A silent t.v.

Alien flecks of white
Decorate the dull brown woods--
"Design by Garbage."

Belle comes to greet me
Tail wagging, gifts in her mouth
To see, not to touch.







The first drop of rain
Falls softly like a phantom--
A teasing suspense.

Insistent white buds
Cluster on the dead brown leaves:
The first blooms of Spring.

The signs are leaning
Weighed down by their statistics.
Are all facts heavy?

Here on the Mountain

High in a basket
Man spring cleans the errant limbs.
Curious cows watch.







A unicorned goat
Looks up from his breakfast;
Doesn't know he's weird.

Here on the mountain
Buds are hidden, trees are bare;
In town, crocii bloom.

High in the blue sky
Honking goose leads another.
(Someone always leads).

Three giant tree trunks
Growing from a single base--
Siamese triplets.













Discarded mattress
Comes to a halt against tree.
Who will sleep on it?

The woods seem deeper;
Bare limbs and dead leaves go on
Far beyond the eye.

The sun moves higher;
Shadows sharpen, warm breeze blows;
Silent bird flutters.

The Woods are Waiting

Is it warm or cold?
The bright sun is deceptive,
The sky crystalline.

Winter still holds on;
The stream still bubbles freely,
But the air is icy.









The mottled mailbox,
Now transformed by the shadows
Into a patchwork.



The woods are waiting;
Shadows cover the dark ground;
Green is yet to come.









Wind sweeps to the road
Coming from the deepest woods
With an icy breath.

Trailing leaves, dust, fumes,
Oil truck lumbers up the hill
Followed by silence.

Today drivers race
As if they try to capture spring
Or flee from winter.












Framed against the sky
Solitary nest hangs high
Born in last year's spring.

Following the Fickle Sun

White bone and pine cones
Lie discarded on the road;
Sun breaks through the clouds.








Across the brown field
Two motionless white geese sit.
(Wait! Just what are they?)

Shadows come and go
Following the fickle sun;
Wind hums in my ear.








Pine cone on the fence
Joins its wooden relatives--
Temporary rest.

Snow is gone from woods
Revealing old leaves, tree stumps
And random garbage.

Silent, lights flashing
Ambulance races round bend--
Quiet urgency.

Second ambulance;
Still no fanfare for the ill;
Just a stern swiftness.

Horizontal tree
Supported by its neighbor
Has roots in the rock.

The moss covered lawn
Plays again with the shadows--
Second day of Spring.

Feathers in the Wind

Where is all the snow?
Robin pecks near patch of white
Surrounded by light.

Road work has begun;
Big trucks mark the start of spring.
Last day of winter.

Moss covered rocks
Set by the side of the stream.
Squirrel leaps across road.









Feathers in the wind
Rustle on the dead small bird
Wanting to take off.

Old rotten tree trunk
Survived another winter;
Has transcended age.








In the wood's dark shade
Gray patches of snow survive--
Winter's last hurrah.








They've fled the mail box
To reside on the fir tree
Christmas ornaments.

Near a spot of moss
Robin begins to take off
Banking like a plane.








As brown as the earth
Can rusts to oblivion,
Muting its demise.

Under the Ice Shelves

It's sunny but cold;
Black holes peek from frozen snow;
Puddles now glisten.












Hens are complaining--
Low grumping rasping voices
Reach out to the road.

Bouncing water light;
Whoosh of the icy wind;
Childhood memories.










Rubbish through the trees;
A glimpse of crumpled boxes;
Soon they will be gone.







Soft shadows, moss lawn;
Snow cover has slipped away
Like a used prom dress.

Winding from the tree,
Thick snake like roots touch the air;
Can go no further.







Through the cold winter
Monster stump held stone captive
But could not eat it.












Under the ice shelves
Sparkling streams of water.
Look! Phantom snow flakes.