Pastels of Winter

Not a ray of sun;
Gray clouds on the white blue snow--
Pastels of winter.

 

Brown branches stick up;
Forsythia under snow.
(When will yellow come?)

 

Mist takes over trees,
Weaving fog into branches;
Mourning dove calls out.

Growing from the road--
Spiky plants pierce the pavement;
Life is persistent.

Bent back by the snow,
Pushed, twisted and torn apart,
This fence keeps standing.

Two crows are chatting;
An airplane joins the chatter--

Invisible sounds.

The small green sapling
Grows next to the giant fir.
(Perhaps its mother)

On slender branches
Small drops of water glisten;
Trapping brief sunlight.