Birds flit in bushes;
Sprinkle themselves on the ground;
Swoop to the feeder.
Pick up truck passes;
Bluebird picks corn from railing;
Fifteen degrees out.
Through the empty swing
Susan is seen on her way
To feed the two cows.
Old thistles may droop
In the freezing temperature.
(Old thorns are still sharp).
A skin of thin ice
Forms over the rushing stream.
(Will it cover it?)
A single dead leaf
Hangs at the edge of the woods--
Beyond it, whiteness.
Old fuzzy cat tails
Whipped by cold and winter wind
Bare their lighter fur.
Over arching tree
Protects the ground beneath it--
Dark shade in the snow.
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