His ass must be cold:
Blue-jay sitting on ice mound.
(Doesn't seem to mind.)
Bright sun, bitter cold;
Outside looks so inviting;
Birds back at feeder.
Lady cardinal sits
By side of the chickadee;
Birds of a feather?
A forest of tracks
Lie just outside my front door;
Birds and beasts alike.
Three snow filled chairs sit
Next to the icy white swing
Waiting for the Spring.
All is frosted now
But the black mirrored stream flows
Untouched by freezing.
White puff ball flowers
Have turned to brown long ago;
White snow reminds them.
High above ladders
A man chips ice from the roof.
(Better stay inside).
Shadows on the hill
Falling up the mountainside
Further than the trees.
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