Specks of white float down;
They dance in the morning sun.
Passing snow flurry.

Wind across the field
Picks up the cold of the snow
And roars in my ear.

One white speck of snow
Disappears into the road.
Now there are others.

Swiftly sunlight flees;
Suddenly everything's gray.
Then poof! Sun is back.

My feet crunch the ice
Then they squoosh the softer snow.
Winter percussion.

Now they're on the porch--
The two grizzled old black dogs;
Always together.

Specks in the sunlight,
Snow flakes driven by the snow.
They're racing nowhere.

Now they are sleeping
Their gray muzzles snout to snout.
The two old dog friends.

Clean bridge of ice
Across the racing waters.
A December stream.

The sunlight is fresh;
It washes the white snow field
And paints the red barn.

On the soft snow lawn
The schnauzer lies and watches;
A brown teddy bear.

The wind is hollow;
It echoes around my ears,
Then it disappears.

Stream is iced over,
Snow covers the dark waters.
Do they flow under?

Bells hang from mailbox:
Shiny green and bright silver.
A Yuletide posting

Straight lines on the snow;
Here a square, there triangle.
Sun's geometry.

The road glistens wet;
Square sign shade on the snow.
The sun is playing.

Bright light on the snow;
Trees cast their shadows starkly.
Car sounds far away.


The stream is quiet;
Faint rippling under the ice.
A distant tinkle.


High on the snow hill
Two black dogs sit in the sun,
Still, part of the woods.


The woods seem endless;
Stark tree shadows on the snow;
All life is muted.


The white hill is steep;
It ripples the woods higher;
At the top: blue sky.


Sky is clear, cold, blue;
The sun broadcasts the shadows.
It's supposed to rain.

Chickens watch the snow;
They see the slanting white lines
From the dark barn door.

Tree limbs are frosted;
The stream winds through the white banks.
Snow falls silently.

Bright sunny morning;
A crisp wind blows in my face.
Somewhere a hammer.

Sun light on the stream
Sparkling the rushing waters.
I grumble aloud.

Ladder in the woods
Lying flat on the brown leaves,
Too tired to stand up.

Car sound in the wind;
Then the car races past me
Leaving just the wind.

Tree limb bends over;
Gnarled branch above the ground.
Ancient canopy.

Spring colors long gone;
Now there are brown shades and green.
A muted rainbow.

Up the sharp steep hill
Mother jogs behind her pram.
Baby sleeps inside.

Faint whiff of a skunk
Drifts from nobody knows where.
Ghost of a fear past.

There's frost on the grass;
There's thin ice near the still stream.
First of December.

Bare bushes rustle;
Ten tiny birds scoot around
Then whoosh to a tree.

The stream flows softly
And tinkles by the road side.
I see a black ghost.

Sun spreads on the fields
Slowly emerging from the clouds,
Like a second dawn.

The trees are bare now
Revealing hidden houses.
Winter strips the veils.

Black dog trots ahead;
He's taking his morning walk.
I follow behind.

A loud whining buzz:
The house takes on a new face.
The smell of cut wood.

Grizzled gray dog barks;
Young black Lab stops in his tracks.
Mexican stand off.

Shadows on the road;
Wind hums softly in my ears.
Then a gray cloud comes.

The woods are humming;
The wind plays between the trees;
The leaves are racing.

The three mailboxes
Stand side by side--one open
Like a hungry mouth.

The stream is rushing,
Moist flower smells fill the air.
Is this November?

Streams rush everywhere;
Here a pond, there a river;
Relentless water.

Who shot this raccoon
Left it to die in the woods.
A strange kind of sport.

Water sounds abound
By the road and in the woods.
Late November's flow.

A frog in the road
Doesn't move when I touch it;
Cold, wet and confused.

The stream rushes down
Brushing away the dead leaves;
A roadside torrent.

Crushed worm on the road
Twists and turns and twists again;
Can't extract itself.

It's damp, wet and gray;
The snow disappears into the fog.
I can't see the field

Ghost trees touch the sky;
Yellow car lights cut the fog.
The stream still burbles.

There is no sun now,
Only the soft endless fog
And the gray silence.

The raccoon is still;
No longer does it whimper.
It's part of the ground.

Two trees together
Their branches are intertwined
Like old wooden friends.

In the beat up house
Colored things scurry about.
The t.v. is on.

Crow calls in the fog;
It is nowhere to be seen.
There is just its cry.

It's noon in morning;
Thick fog hides the time of day.
Snow man is melting.

Dark water's ribbon
Snakes through white snow in the woods.
You can just hear it.

A splash of red leaves
Bursts out against the snow field;
Then a splash of sun.

The bright yellow sign:
"Posted: No Hunting, Fishing"
Against the white snow.

A whimpering sound;
Raccoon lies in the cold snow
Crying out his life.

On the cool white snow
Raccoon lies crying, dying;
Near him a small red blotch.

Snow man in the field;
A car splushes on the road.
First snow of the year.

Everyone is gone;
No sound or sight of people;
Woods on Thanksgiving.

Stubborn small flowers
Bend under the weight of snow;
They don't know it's time.

The old jeep passes;
A gust of gas fumes lingers.
Faint child memories.

The old washer waits;
Another scrubless winter.
Snow flakes cover it.

The old black Lab stares
Then turns and sits on the snow;
We know each other.

The bushes are bare
Save for strings of red berries;
Bird rustles inside.

A tiny white moth
Flickering across the road
Follows its shadow.

A child's blue knit cap
Lies on top of the dry leaves.
Where is its owner?

The sun strokes my face;
A lone crow chortles sharply;
Lazy brown leaves lie.

Old Marlboro case;
Soggy beer bottle carton.
Humans trash the woods.

Sun is cold today;
Wind rushes in empty woods.
Ouch! My big toe hurts.

Green ribbon is waving
Hanging from the bare tree branch.
Damn! It's cold out!

Crisp autumn morning;
Broccoli trees face the sky;
Crow barks far away.

Chickens cluck and peck;
Their world is the barnyard ground.
They don't see the clouds.

Geese in a gray sky:
They honk unseen through the clouds.
Wood smoke tangs the air.

Like fragile broccoli
The stripped trees reach to the sky.
Maybe they're praying.

Sniffing the dead leaves
The old black Lab ignores me
Pisses on a sign.

The woods are brown now,
Leaf blankets cover the floor
Snuggled from the snow.

Swish of jeep and van.
The air is filled with gas smell,
Then all is silent.

I check the dead leaves.
Will I find my long last pen?
Hope springs eternal.

The strong post light.
It switches on at nightfall,
Deceived by gray day.

Small white mushroom steps
Climb the standing dead tree trunk.
Soon they'll be yellow.

Soft green mullein plant
Sits among the dead brown leaves
Opening its arms.

Shiny snake of tar
Slithers down the road's center
And joins its fellows.

Slices of sunlight
Cut patterns on the brown leaves
The trees stand so still.

Pine cones on the ground
Lie in beds of brown needles.
Soon, winter's slumber.

Tiny puffs of smoke
Push out of the gray chimney:
The scent of autumn.

Warm breeze even now
With the stark trees and dead leaves.
Seasons overlap.

Head against a jar
The old black Lab lies in bliss.
His gray whiskers twitch.

A skeleton tree
Against the muted gray sky.
A leaf blower purrs.

Barking dog has stopped
I look up from my notebook.
He has turned around.

My mind is racing;
Can't think about scenery.
Where is my wallet?

A sunless stillness;
The leaves on the road don't stir;
One drifts from the sky.

Next to the bushes
Darkness on the sunless road.
Stain of a shadow?

After Halloween
Bat leaves skitter like raindrops.
Ghost clouds sweep the sky.

A soft wind's whistle
Awakens faint memories.
Brown leaves are rustling.

The schnauzer bellows;
The little basset follows suit.
They just want to play.

First dark and then light
The clouds move like passing moods.
I follow along.

The ancient phone book
Is still stuffed in the tree crotch.
Nobody's calling.

Lone purple clover
Stands on a sea of brown leaves.
How long will it last?

Soft green mullein plant
Spreads out its welcoming arms:
"Come, I will heal you."

White thorn branches bend;
The tempting berries are gone.
Now there's just prickles.

Washer in the woods
Awaits another season
But never sees clothes.

Where is my old pen?
Dropped into the dead brown leaves;
In oblivion.

High in the bare tree
A large bird's nest is revealed
No longer hidden.

Neat stack of cut logs;
Gray smoke puff from the chimney;
Spice smell of burnt wood.

Dead leaves on the tree
Still clinging to the branches.
Will they ever fall?

Four leaves on a tree;
Just a gust of wind will do;
Then the tree's bare.

Small purple flowers
Peep out from the sea of brown.
They make their last stand.

Sky and earth are still;
Something's bound to start falling.
Is it rain or snow?

Last leaf on a branch:
Will not be there tomorrow.
Just a puff of wind.

The grizzled black dog
Looks up and gives me a glance.
We are silent friends.

Lost in the brown leaves
My small silver bullet pen.
It's gone forever.

Leaves are skittering;
They dance in the cool sunlight,
Then one slaps my mouth.

Leaf slides to the ground,
Gently, slowly it descends.
Then, a burst of wind.

A bright glistening:
Something sparkles on dead leaves.
Ah, it's a beer can.

Spice smell of dead leaves;
The sun paints the trees yellow.
Chickens are clucking.

Burbling, whispering,
The stream races through the woods;
Where is it going?

The trees are naked;
Now deep woods are visible.
Still, there's mystery.

The marsh is still green;
Nearby, leaves float from the trees.
Two worlds, side by side.

Brightly glowing tree;
The sun illumines the leaves.
A breeze sprinkles them.

The leaves are sailing.
They float through the air like kites
And rest on the road.

The woods are silent;
Then a throbbing van passes:
Stench of tobacco.

Carpet of brown leaves.
The deep woods are undressing.
I can see farther.

A high rasping hum;
The chains saw cuts through the air.
A whiff of wood smoke.

A pile of brown leaves.
Through trees I see mountain tops.
The view is longer.

The faded red barn;
Pale moon in the cool blue sky;
Autumn is waking.

Cluster of bare trees;
Almost all the leaves are gone.
Shadows on the road.

A puff of yellow:
The maple lights up the road.
The air is spicy.

Black dogs on brown leaves:
They lift their heads and bellow,
Then plop back to sleep.

Tiny blue flowers
Wilt and droop in the chill air,
But yellow persists.

Shining milk weed pods
Hang full in the autumn air.
Their time will be soon.

The woods are mottled now;
Yellow leaves and brown carpet;
Patches of sunligh

Glowing blue asters
Amidst jewel weed, Queen Anne's lace.
The bee has a feast.

Still and suspended
A dragonfly on a twig.
Then it zooms upward.

The sun hits my face;
In the bushes crickets chirp;
A caressing breeze.

I kick the brown leaves;
They rasp dryly on the road.
Only a few now.

Leaf floats to the ground;
The woods are carpeted brown;
From this year or last?

A warm gust of breeze;
A rain of leaves flutters down.
Brown is mixed with green.

Goats in the barn door
Braying in the morning sun.
Butterflies flutter.

The field is mowed now.
Green and brown mix on the hill.
The air is pungent.

Above seagull cries;
The bird is far from the sea.
Is it really lost?

I sit on a rock
A bug buzzes near my ear;
Sun and breeze kiss me.

Swaying feathered ferns
Cluster together on a hill.
Below: plastic bag.

Between the two trees
Three spider webs hang like nets;
Now they catch the sun.

Yellow goldenrod
Waves gently in the sunlight;
The field is brightened.

Not all trees are green;
Yellow leaves catch the sunlight.
A brown one falls down.