White the Earth Beneath

Whiteness everywhere--
On the trees, slates, grass and road.
Cow keeps on chewing.








Frosting on a nest;
Dog runs down driveway sniffing;
Hens raise a ruckus.

Over the dark stream
A slender white bridge arches--
A snow covered log.

Tipped lightly with white,
Fir trees catch the fallen snow;
Snow flakes begin to float.











Like a hungry tongue
The fungus laps up the snow;
But does not swallow.

The wind is restless;
Loud whispering in the woods;
Fleeting bits of snow.

Loud is the crow's caw;
Black its flight across the sky;
White the earth beneath.

Footprints in the snow
Going past me on the road.
Just a long gone ghost.









Sitting on a branch
Crow shakes and rustles feathers.
Winter's new to him.

Crows Cry in Slate Sky

Bushes bend forward
As they peer across the road
Waiting for the cars.








Thick bramble bushes;
Last desiccated apple;
Crows cry in slate sky.

Paper bits on bark
Above the swirling wood grain
Mark where the sign was.

Propped like a cannon
The dead tree aims for the road.
It will surely miss.








Shroud of the tree limbs
Veiling the old dead tree stump
Give it privacy.








With the trees bare now
Living and dead look the same;
Pre-winter limbo.

Perched on bent tree limbs:
Old bird's nest like a castle;
King and queen have flown.

Small bird on wire;
As I reach for my camera,
Bugger flies away.

Their Desire Naked

Dark spots on the slates;
Heavy gray lowering clouds;
Still, there is brightness.

Coiled and slithering,
Still as a taut rattlesnake:
Dirty snow dragon.












Suspended and still,
Gray clouds hang above the trees
Waiting to unload.

Next to garbage bin
Lies a shiny gold beer can;
Too good to be thrown.









How they reach upward:
Fall's silhouetted branches;
Their desire naked.

How brown the woods are;
Just one carpet of dead leaves
Extends forever.

Murmur of voices
Breaks through the heavy still air.
They're bringing out trash.

Loud hollow gunshot
Explodes in the morning air.
Is something wounded?

Shadows are muted,
Captured in trees and boulders
Deeper and darker.

What Season is This?

The slate stones glisten
In the morning's gentle thaw;
First snow and first melt.












Shadows on the snow--
A small world in black and white.
Wind blows through the field.

In shade of the tree
Small pocket of snow survives;
Sun will not find it.

Wood smoke in warm air;
Shovel leans against the tree;
December the first.












Twinkling and sparkling
The stream courses through the woods
While wind gathers strength.

They were babies then--
These young pine trees last winter
Reaching for the sky.

Shiny twists and turns;
Mystery on the pavement--
A cryptic road rune.

Puffed clouds in blue sky;
Sunshine and gentle breezes;
What season is this?

In each other's limbs:
Two slender entwined tree trunks;
A thin tree tango.

Gray and overcast
Thick sky is pregnant with snow;
Buckets clang in barn.








Mattress and a crutch
Together in the pickup:
Past sleep and past pain.

A tree trunk totem--
Cock-eyes look out on the road--
Nature's Picasso.












Bundled in her coat
She accompanies her dogs;
(Pooches must pee and poop).







Tree once rich with bugs,
Drilled by countless woodpeckers,
Now a mass of holes.

Knotholes stare blindly
Lips curled in a serene grin--
A smiling totem.

Bright red against green,
Above field of faded white--
Seasonal colors.

Where Shadows Now Tread

Blinding bright light;
Shadows etched upon the trees;
All is still and cold.

Shadows mock the sun
Casting down where it is not.
Just negative space.












Bare trees and the fir
Limbs wrapped around each other--
A still winter dance.

A quiet stillness;
Plants tremble in the ice breeze.
No birds are singing.

In. the cold morning light
Tree stumps gain a dimension
Just beyond the third.

Patchwork of shadows--
Delicate veins in the woods
Like my mother's palms.












The ancient stone wall
Lines a path into the woods
Where shadows now tread.

With a flash and crash
Deer hurls itself across road
Leaving just the road.

Even Grass Must Bow

It's below freezing now;
Cow takes refuge behind hay;
Flurries in the sun.








The sun is brilliant;
Cold wind blows through the field;
Even grass must bow.

Late afternoon light--
Small pine tree picks up the sun
Its needles glowing.

Bright patches of light
Illuminate the forest
With a sheen of beige.

Walking hand in hand--
Couple bundled for the cold,
But they share their warmth.

A cross of Lorraine--
Fleeting shadows on a tree;
(Or is it Chinese?)








Light before twilight;
There is no warmth in the sun;
The shadows seem cold.

Now just the tree top
Picks up the setting sunlight.
Darkness creeps upward.








Like little beige stones
Mushrooms huddle together
In cold sun and wind.

Autumn Shadows

Thousand gnarly branches
Grasping in all directions
This November morn.







Dog and his shadow
Stand sharp in the morning light
Against each other.

Laura and her dogs
Walking on the long dirt road;
I keep going straight.

Bright latticed shadows
Lie upon the the quiet house
Not making a sound.







Flowing into woods
Long blanketed shadowed path
Rolled out by the sun.

My pen is broken;
I cannot write my haiku;
Must I remember?

Cave in the tree trunk
For animals or fairies?
We will never know

Square terrier barks
Shaking, jumping up and down.
Some dogs will do that.