Shadows on the Floor

Shadows on the floor
Welcome me to the new day
With an inside warmth.

 Every day I look
Through the kitchen window;
Challenge perception.

These two never tire
Of standing, licking, nodding--
Daily cow routine.

With a faint tinkle
Stream sparkles its way through snow,
Sculpturing the banks.

Snow and shadows
Soften the path to the house.
(Nobody lives thee).

A hint of the stream
Covered with snow and shadows
Runs through the forest.

It's always warmer
When I make the return trip,
Face into the sun.

A small snow man stands
Just outside of Ghost's corral;
Perhaps he built it.

Natural Mobile

Washing machine strains
Making rough sounds in the background;
Purifier hums.

 

 Trees outside are still,
No cold wind is shaking them.
(It's time to go out).

Forsythia husk--
Its brown husk open and dry;
No trace of yellow.

Unseen plane rumbles
Like a ghost across the sky;
Down here some birds chirp.

Those birds are not free
As they reflexively flee
From pointed camera.

Suspended in air:
Fallen tree limb caught and held--
Natural mobile.

Light around the bend;
Small breeze from down below.
So many changes.

In his warm blanket
Ghost stands in teh freezing cold.
(He's not shivering).

Speak Language of Shapes

 

 

 

Shadows on the snow
Extend indefinitely
Beyond the white fields.

 

 

 

 

 

 Single branch peeks out
Of flower pot on the porch--
Surviving seasons.

Sign and its shadow
Motionless in icy air
Speak language of shapes.

Forsythia bush
Bends to the filthy snow bank,
Kissing it gently.

The cold is biting,
Nipping at my naked hands;
Best put my gloves on.

First a faint whisper,
Then a louder hollow call:
The wind in the woods.

With his head pulled back
Woodpecker prepares to strike;
Soon a "rat-a-tat".

Shaggy stalks spring up
In the blank and bleak wasteland;
Yerry Hill tundra.

Summer Memories

This shiny morning
Hanging pine limbs are shaking;
Silent cars zoom past.

Summer memories
Do not warm me in the snow,
Or melt the gray ice.

The snowbound sapling
Seems to be screaming for help;
Its limbs are outstretched.

Up Yerry Hill Road
Bitter relentless wind blows.
Winter has returned.

A bright sun rimmed cloud
Plays tug of war with the light.
Back and forth they go.

Softly in the woods
Wind murmurs its icy words--
Breathes them on the road.

Tree fungus is black;
Has become its own shadow
Devouring its light.

Partially repaired
Old abandoned out building
Abandoned by death.

Not Winter, Not Spring

The air grows brighter;
Snow is suffused with sun's rays;
Fleeting shadows form.

Through the square window
I peer at the outside world--
Each morning different.

My rhododendrons
Have sunk deep beneath the snow;
Now they're popping up.

Where are the shadows?
They're hiding behind the clouds
On this gray morning.

The stream is awake;
Water ripples dark and deep--
A square of blackness.

 

 

 

 

Unread newspapers
Lie, blue wrapped on the driveway;
Ignored or unseen.

Plane's hum and crow's cry
Add life to this dim morning
With their distant sounds.

It's in between time--
Not winter, not spring,
But gray transition.

 

 

 

 

 Shadows have been freed;
Clouds have released the shadows
This late afternoon.