Drip, Drip, Drip, Drip, Drip

Sun dripping shadows--
Brightness from behind a cloud.
Dripping continues.

Snow again last night,
Thick and wet on my front porch;
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.












Two horns in the dark--
Cow peers out from the barn door;
Crow looks from tree top.








Mirrors in the snow;
Reflections in the dark stream;
Puff clouds in the sky.












Gilda stops, listens,
Rustle of a distant dog.
Now, she's a statue.


Stripes on the snow bank
Will not melt in the bright sun.
They'll just fade away.












Soft wind up the hill
Whispers hollow in my ear
And then passes on.

Shadow of the tree
Taller than the tree itself,
Easier to climb.

Structure of Chaos

Icicles are back;
Yesterday melts--today freeze--
Winter/Spring see saw.

The snow seems to glow
In the soft rays of the sun,
Muted and diffuse.


A small clump of snow
Suspended on a thin branch;
One flake of white falls.

Today's focus time;
The road has a sheen of ice;
I step carefully.

Catching the sunlight--
Myriad water mirrors
Whisper and bubbles.


Suddenly stillness
Descends upon the iced road.
No birds and no cars.

Extending from branch
A shiny sheen of ice
Pointing to the ground.


Thin bramble bushes
In their winter nakedness:
Structure of chaos.

Blankness in the Air

It looks gray and bleak;
Or is that just my inside?
I'll have to find out.

Without the sunshine
The snow looks even whiter--
Blankness in the air.

Everything's muted--
Plane humming far overhead;
Blank stare of the cow.

Thick gray clouds pile on
Layering in the thick sky--
Celestial mountains.


Living skeletons
Delicately reaching up--
The tall leafless trees.


Up through the snow bank
A small branch of the sapling
Still can greet the sky.

Once again brown leaves
Lie exposed on the hillside;
Autumn without end.


As grayness settles
Even the fumes from the truck
Seem like they belong.

Light, Dark, Without End

Before I go out,
Leningrad Symphony plays--
Winter, long ago.

It said "eight degrees"
And I piled on clothing;
But it just feels crisp.


A hooting hoot owl;
Some clucking hens in the pen;
A lone bird chirping.

Sunshine lights the road
Painting the snow with shadows;
Crystalline blue sky.


Translucent dead leaf
Stuck below abandoned nest
In the bare bushes.
Is it a stream bed,
This snaky shadowed snow dune
That has direction?




The unchanging bend
Still stops at the end of sight;
Beyond there, who knows?


High into the hills
Rise trees and their snow shadows--
Light, dark without end.

Grasping at Shadows

Hollows on the snow;
Shaded, molded by the sun;
Layered with shadows.


Deceptive brightness
Conceals the frigidity
Until I walk out.


Shadows and snow merge;
Blinding white upon the field;
Now, the rooster crows.


Ancient wheelbarrow,
Rusted brown, sits patiently,
Waiting for its job.


A pale ghostly branch
Rises from the blank whiteness
Grasping at shadows.


The woods are nuanced;
Rolling shades of black and white
Beneath the tall pines.

Sparkles on the snow
Only move when I pass by;
Yet they go nowhere.


A pile of dead leaves
On porch of abandoned house--
Perpetual Fall.

Yesterday Was Spring

Yesterday was Spring;
Today, everything is white;
Tomorrow? Who knows?

Brown slush has arrived;
Smell of cow shit from the barn.
(It ain't all pristine.)


Rooster's not crowing;
Sky is empty of birds;
Field is white again.

Snow clods fall from trees;
Trucks slosh along mushy road;
Sky is one gray cloud.


Look at St. Francis--
Up to sacred ears in snow;
Winter sacrilege.

Small ponds in the woods--
Deep, dark and mysterious,
Reflect their won depth.

Distant roaring sound:
Mechanical beast climbs hill
Spewing sand behind.

Do Those Sparkles Sing?

Afternoon shadows
Fall on the snow and the road.
Is that a cardinal?

Not Spring, not Winter;
A bright day--not cold, not warm--
Time of transition.

Rooster keeps crowing
Even though it's two p.m.
Something waking up.









Peter with shovel;
There always seem to be work,
All times of the year.












Jogger jogs gently;
Day's too soft for pounding feet.
Lighter touch will do.










Do those sparkles sing,
Bouncing on top of the stream?
Angels? Or fairies?











Stump buddies are back,
Risen from deep snow again
To face each other.

Icicles return,
Dripping softly from the rocks--
Seasonal see saw.

To Follow the Wind

Pale sunlight dripping
Joins the melting icicles;
Dissolve drop by drop.

Warm breeze shakes tree limbs;
The rooster's crowing again;
Three crows cross the sky.












Snow banks are brown;
Earth's catching up with winter;
And now there is mud.

Warm wind up the road;
Stream's no longer blocked with snow;
First bird in the bush.












Next to the mailbox
Small red flag lies in the snow.
Who will pick it up?

Bird cries in the woods--
My thoughts slip out of this place
Into obsession.

Dead brown leaves are back
Released from winter's bondage
To follow the wind.












Around the tree's base
Thick rings of receding snow--
The seasons circle.