No Motion--No Sound

Brief spurt of sunshine
After the passing rain storm;
Sky is gray again.

 

 My old snow shovel
Leans against the front window,
Next to the Buddha.

 

The carved wooden owl

Is melting into the tree;

(It can't fly away).

The old rusted bell
Hangs still on the wooden fence--
No motion--no sound.

On the rotting trunk
New shelf fungi have sprung out--
Beige vitality.

The old wooden fence
Lies ready for the winter--
This time as kindling.

Even a small child
Could not sit on this low bench.
What's the use of it?

Rumbling up ahead--
Blurred tones, indistinct rhythms:
Van blasts radio.