Discarded Bag of Dog Shit

A gray cold morning,

Birds resting on forsythia;

Not flying this way.

It feels like snow fall

Is just around the corner;

All sunshine has fled.

Resting on the tree,

Wood owl becomes part of it.

Owl will disappear.

There's just a red dot,

Marking where the tree has been.

Giant has fallen.

First flakes of snow fall

Softly without any sound.

Will fields soon be white?

Bright white birch tree stands

Tall to face the coming snow

And shame the gray sky.

Lying by the road

Discarded bag of dog shit

Neatly wrapped, shiny.

In sumac shadows

Small fir tree branch has fallen.

Looks like it's home.

At Whim of the Wind

Rising overhead:

Men in orange uniform

Cutting down the trees. 

Birds flee from feeder

As the sounds from the buzz saw

Envelope the air.

Collette and the kids

Watch the fall of the large tree--

Now, an empty space.

Above the tree line

Plane etches white in the sky.

Birds call around.

Luminescent leaf

Still glowing next to the stream.

It's frozen in place.

At whim of the wind

Dead tree limb hangs suspended;

I swiftly pass by.

A path of bright ice

Gleaming into the forest--

Fairy stepping stones.

My invading thoughts

Abduct and carry me off

Far from my footsteps.

Light Cannot be Jailed

Freezing in the face

Of brilliant yellow sunshine,

This Sunday morning. 

Morning is all sounds: 

Hum of the furnace, car whoosh--

Well, birds are quiet.

Long shadows on moss--

Summer time is always here

With green on the ground.

Dark the thistle bush,

It's violet color is drained

But its sting remains.

Shadows and dead leaves

Lead to the deserted house,

Touched now with sunshine.

Dead leaves on trees

Standing just off of the road.

(When will they fall off?)

Discarded wood fence

Dumped in the pristine forest.

(Must be by mistake).

Windows through steel bars

Still show the bright field outside.

Light cannot be jailed.

Or Give Me a Kiss

Sun streams through windows

Showing off the dirty glass;

(Bitter with better) 

Coffee roaster whirls--

Room is filled with pungent smell:

Morning wake up call.

Collette comes over;

She wants to say a hello

Or give me a kiss.

Through the evergreens

Pond is beginning to freeze;

Stream keeps on flowing.

Shadows on the road  

Winding soft up the driveway

Into the forest.

Old forest stream bed

A chain of frozen puddles

Waiting for the Spring.

Discarded bumper

Lies at the edge of the road--

A piece of found art.

Unseen, in the woods,

Sounds of ripping and sawing;

Dead trees will succumb.

Hundred and forty

Rings mark each year this tree lived. 

It was just cut down.