Songs for the Season

A white whirlwind falls

Slanting across trees and road

As snow descends.

Quiet the descent--

A million snow flakes falling--

Clouds of solitude.

Fence posts standing still

Let the falling snow cap them--

Passive acceptance.

Forsythia blooms,

This time with snow white blossoms--

Its winter garment.

Twice sold empty house

Made more empty by the snow,

Stands desolately.

Mirror in the stream

Shines through the falling snow flakes,

Reflecting the sky.

What little people

Will cross these snowy bridges

Into the forest?

Forest sings in the snow

Its high pitched tuneless singing

Songs for the season.

With Far Away Swish

From walk of Thursday, December 8,2016

It's bright and dim outside;

Melting ice drips on the porch;

Bird feeder is bare.

With far away swish--

Two cars passing each other;

Then they disappear.

Collette takes her time;

She turns to give me a look,

Then goes back to eat.

They've been here since Spring--

These three stout wooden lawn chairs

Now covered with snow.

My nosy neighbor

Complains about my garbage.

I blow up at her.

Bowing to the stream

Wood fence bends far as it can.

(To see reflection?)

Outside shadowed house

Wood chimes tinkle in the breeze

With metallic tones.

Tiny road side pond

No longer filled with water

Now holds soggy dead leaves.

(To Whom and For What?)

Dripping from my eaves,

White clods of snow keep falling

This Pearl Harbor Day.














Falling from the trees,
Large clods of whiteness descend;
Forest is gray/white.

White and wet my path;

Snow and rain mixing on it--

Melting mosaic.

As the snow/rain falls

Drops collect on the branch

To reflect the world.

In the gray gloom

A single lamp light burns bright

Over the trash cans.

In the hush forest

A soft moist chorus is heard:

Light rain and snow clods.

Plastic bag on branch

Anonymously grateful

(To whom and for what?)

Roadside stream still flows

Between the mushy snow banks.

Slush is in the air.

From Colorado

Everything is white;

A bright pall has descended;

Winter snow has come.

My lawn no longer--

White phantoms have taken it

And buried it deep.

Tree is sculpted white

Leaves have fled and snow returned

To rest for a spell.

The fence poles stand tall

Saluting the heavy sky

In their new white caps.

Berries on the bush

Dripping ice, snow and water

Maintain their red cheer.

The wise truckers know

Their journey is secure

Bottom of the hill.

The useless small bench

Remains useless in the snow;

No one sits in it.

From Colorado

This pickup truck has journeyed

To work in Woodstock.

Wooden Waterfall

December 4, 2016

Sunlight through my plants

Is captured in the green leaves;

Singular glowing.

Outside, the sunlight

Touches on the evergreens

And lays on the leaves.

The stream still sparkles

Across the street from my house;

Rooster keeps crowing.

Red berry garland

Adorns the lifeless phone pole;

Reminder perhaps?

Glowing ruby red

In the carpet of brown leaves--

A thrown plastic cup.

With breathless greeting

She passes by me swiftly,

Jogs into the sun.

Cascading down hill

Somebody's discarded fence--

Wooden waterfall.

In the tiny pond

Leaves merge with their reflections--

Through the looking glass.