Fresh smell in the breeze;
Wind comes swirling down the hill
And stirs the pine tree.

The rolling green field,
Now touched by patches of brown.
Colors have reversed.

Phosphorescent haze
Floats yellow above my head
Fresh forsythia.

Fluttering white moth
Hovers above the dead leaves.
What is it seeking?

Christmas ornaments,
Still hanging from the mailbox
Sparkle in Spring light.

Stone wall in the woods
Climbs to the top of the hill
Camouflaged by rocks.

Crazy little bugs
Buzz frantic around my eyes;
A sure sign of Spring.

Fluttering black moth
Alights softly on the road
And becomes stillness.

Pine branches swaying;
A breeze ripples up the tree.
How blue is the sky.

Robin in the tree
Sits and sways in the breeze.
He just won't let go.

A lone daffodil
Pokes up from the ground cover:
Blast of white on green.

"Reward! Find our Dog"
The sign is tacked to the poles.
The puppy is gone.

Shadows cross the road
With straight black stripes like zebras.
They're ghosts of the trees.

Pine needles sparkle;
The sun illuminates them.
I must close my eyes.

Small buds on the branch
Peek out green and cautiously;
Then sway in the breeze.

The dog frolics forth;
He runs towards me and goes past.
He's meeting his friends.

The bleached bare tree trunk
Stands amid the other trees.
But they are alive.

The Basset Hound's ears
Lift and flop as I scratch them.
He's in ecstasy.

The blinding white house
Lit up by the morning sun;
Two loud roosters crow.

A call and response:
Two cocks crow at each other
Across a wide field.

Tiny blue flowers
Are sprinkled across the lawn:
Spring awakening.

Yellow more yellow;
Green more green and brown more brown;
Magic of the sun.

Four men blowing leaves
Each with giant vacuums;
The dirt stings my eyes.

The wind blows a tree;
It sings a high groaning sound.
Even wood wakes up.

Two loud woodpeckers
Echo themselves in the trees.
Forest counterpoint.

Washer in the woods
Partly covered with wasp's nest
Still waits patiently.

The cardboard "Sale" sign
Hangs limply on the light pole.
The sale is over.

Green buds on the bush;
The sun illuminates them;
Just what will they be?

Rasping lawn machine
Fills the air with its racket.
A woodpecker pecks.

Bright speckled sunlight
Splashes gently through the woods,
Deep, now, but not dark.

The uprooted tree
Lies brown and bare in the woods
Next to a green bush.

Dead branch on rock ledge
Hangs off precipitously.
Will it ever fall?

A circle of rocks
Sits a few yards in the woods.
What tale does it tell?

The collapsed stone wall
Disappears into the woods.
Does it ever end?

Mist covered morning;
Ghost trees stand on the field's edge.
The road disappears.

Sun breaks through the fog;
Soft shadows fall on the road,
Then they disappear.

A burst of yellow
Erupts through the fog ahead:
Forsythia bush.

Trees are cloaked in mist;
They seem to whisper secrets;
Sun shines behind them.

Fuzzy green mullein
Sits happily in dead leaves;
Soaking up moisture.

Sun breaks through the mist
Illuminating the trees.
Plane hums out of sight.

Two dogs on the hill
Sit silently like statues.
They don't even bark.

The old black tree stump
Looks as if it has been burned;
Just the fires of time.

The fog has lifted;
Sun sprays shadows on the road;
A car hood sparkles.

Drops on the road sign
Hang there precipitously.
The sun shines through them.

Moist and spicy smell;
Shiny slug crosses the road.
Full April morning.

Two robins playing
Hop and flutter together.
Must be mating time.

Forsythia blooms;
Bursts of yellow on the fence;
Birds call back and forth.

Moisture in the air;
The rich sweet smell of the earth.
The woods are silent.

The sun is softer
Touching the electric poles
And muting shadows.

Soft clouds veil the sun,
Then slide away letting light.
A lone bird twitters.

White dog in the woods
Sniffs the leaves and then moves on.
Ghost with wagging tail.

Bright blotch on the road
Stands out against the grayness:
The first dead red eft.

White dog meets black dogs;
She lies down, they sniff and piss.
Dog introductions.

Black dog looks longing
As white dog leaves him behind,
Thinks, "She's pretty cute."

Warbling bird call;
Rooster puts in his two cents;
Light beam breaks through cloud.

Robin pecks at hay,
Comes up with beak full of grass,
Says, "Yichh. Where's my worm?"

The wires are humming;
A dove hoots its swallowed cry;
Forsythia buds.

Robin skims the field
Then stands stock still and waiting.
Where is the next worm?

The stream seems lighter,
The water clearer, brighter.
The sky is so blue.

The green beer bottle
Lies next to green chive cluster
Near the dead raccoon.

Black line in the woods;
Electricity through the trees;
All without a sound.

The spider tree stump
Leans grasping over the rocks
With nothing to grab.

Gray muzzled old dog
Lifts his head to glance at me
Then plops back to sleep.

The bare brown dead tree
Has fallen against two pines.
Like friends, they prop it.

It's both sun and clouds;
Small bird fidgets on a wire;
Basset wags its tail.

Robin hops and turns;
Man pulls empty wheelbarrow;
Spring preparation.

Chives stand like soldiers
Guarding the road side in clumps;
They must like car fumes.

My toes are happy,
Open at last to the air.
End of shoe hiding.

Small dandelions
Sprinkled merrily near woods.
Where did they come from?

The shadows are soft;
Sun glistens on car windows;
Distant chain saw sounds.

Shadow of a fan
Whirls ghostlike and silently
In the quiet house.

Small dandelions,
Their yellow phosphorescence
Shouting from the leaves.

An old dead brown leaf
Skitters and jerks on the road;
Puppet of the breeze.

Wind is in the woods
Whispering among the trees:
"It's time to wake up."

Boy leans against tree;
Looks languidly at brother.
It's vacation time.

Cock crows on Sunday;
Fat little bird ignores me;
No cloud in the sky.

Nose poked through the fence
Sad eyed Basset wants a scratch
Then back to his howl.

The fence posts ripple;
Their wooden slats skip and sway.
What good do they do?

The electric pole:
Wires stream from its crossed beams.
Crucified current.

The woods seem greeneries;
Moss on logs, sun through the pines.
The promise of Spring.

The sun is quiet
As it falls upon the road
Without a whisper.

A brown beer bottle
Lies in a roadside puddle.
It almost fits in.

Glisten in the woods;
It's a pool of fresh water.
No ice any more.

The dogs bark again;
Each time they do the same thing.
Why don't they get bored?

Birds sing all around;
The sky is gray and pregnant.
An Irish soft day.

White patch in the woods;
Could it be some stubborn snow?
No. Just some plastic.

Hollow woodpecker
Beats a tattoo on the tree.
Barking dog lies down.

The trees promise green;
The gray sky promises rain;
April is not cruel.

The forest is moist;
Water puddles in stream beds;
The dark earth is soft.

The green chive clusters
Stand pointedly together
Waiting to be munched.

"For Sale by Owner"--
The sign is tacked to the tree.
Who will own the woods?

I wear gloves again;
The sky gray and overcast.
Could this be April?

Flutter in the field;
Robins quickly hop around.
Cold wind brushes past.

Distant rooster crows;
The stream warbles on its way.
Ahead, car door slams.

The woodpeckered tree
Stands upright and full of holes.
Other trees have buds.

Above, a plane purrs;
Below, the road is silent.
I am in between.

Black glove on a branch
Points aimlessly towards the ground.
It seeks its owner.

The road bends ahead;
For now, beyond is unseen.
Then it's visible.

Etched against the sky
Spider branches of the trees.
Look! There's a small bird.

Black birds in the tree
Sit framed against the blue sky;
Cat strolls to the barn.

Blue sky, chirping birds
Languid stream and bright shadows;
Now it's really Spring.

All the dogs are out;
Unseen bird repeats itself.
Robins scout the grass.

Everything is still;
The trees bespeak their silence;
Sunlight falls quietly.

Now the sun greets me;
I walk down the winding hill.
You have to love Spring.

The jagged tree stump
Sits in the shade of the woods.
Spring will not change it.

Weather beaten barn
In the strong morning sunlight;
Tree shadows on it.

Sky is endless blue;
A lone plane cuts its surface
Leaving sound behind.

Shadows on the stream
Make its surface a mirror.
The water is still.

Car from wealthy house
Splutters and farts as it leaves.
Must be a worker.

Three D woods today;
In two days I'll be in France;
Now there's just my road.

Wind calls all over;
An old branch creaks behind me;
Ahead the trees bow.

My four legged friend
Joins me without a mutter;
We each do our thing.

My friend walks slowly;
She waits for me to catch up
And then trots ahead.

The air smells so sweet;
The breeze brings a promise of Spring;
A jogger trots by.

Still water in stream;
There's not even a ripple.
Soon the flood will come.

The monochrome woods;
Thousand brown variations,
Green splashed against it.

The shadows appear
As the sun breaks through gray clouds
And then hides its face.

First sun, then clouds, then...
Each phase seems everlasting.
Now is forever.

A long, lone snow patch
Lies in the shade of the woods.
It just won't give up.

Clusters of white buds
Bob and weave in the soft breeze.
Now I know it's Spring.

Wire around the tree
Rusty encircling the trunk.
Tree has swallowed it.

Dead bird in forest
Lies stiff and gray on the ground.
Oh! It's just some wood.

Picking up garbage;
The sun is mild today.
There's an old beer can.

Lying on the grass,
Rotting, but not fast enough:
"Waste Management" sign.

The clouds are layered:
Puffy white, thin gray on blue.
Woodpecker rattles.

Robins in the field
Hop quickly in unison;
Don't seem to be worms.

The clouds are shifting;
In the sky there is motion;
Below, all is still.

Within the fenced woods
Some of the trees have red paint.
Marked doomed prisoners.

Even though it's cold
Unseen bird chirps cheerily
And lightens the air.

Three trees guard the woods
With signs that say "No Parking".
(Who parks in the woods?)

There, the stream is still:
No ice, no flow, no burbles.
Yet there are sparkles.

Lone snowflakes scatter;
Clouds and sun compete above--
The first day of Spring.

An insistent wind
Blows steadily and then dies;
A distant crow calls.

It's March twentieth;
Weatherman says Spring is here;
Why is it so cold?

Old filing cabinet
Brown and rusting in the woods.
Does it hold secrets?

Chubby little bird
Hopping quick from branch to branch
Pays me no mind.

Same old road curving;
Same hill twists up the mountain;
A surprise ahead.

Robin on the road
Lies motionless as asleep.
How did it get here?

My mind has wondered;
I conjure many worries.
Sun has come and gone.

Beer cans, plastic wrap,
Cigarette boxes, old bags.
The road, woods, are raped.

White specks float gently;
Gray clouds billow together;
Two days before Spring.

Chimney's lazy smoke
Swirls slowly without the wind,
And then it rises.

A pile of cut wood
Lies awkwardly on the ground;
The owners have left.

The sun is muted;
Soft shadows in the forest;
Poof! It's bright again.

The snow flakes have gone;
Gray has given way to blue.
Sun has won for now.

My four legged friend
Keeps me company today.
She stops at her house.

The wind pushes me;
Pine needles tremble and shake.
Clouds have won again.

First sun and then clouds,
A ping pong game in heaven.
I can only watch.

Rooster crows the sun
Splashed brightly on house and field.
How blue the sky is.

Cold, rough wind explodes
Splashing my face with its ice;
Then it whimpers down.

Black shadows are sharp;
They lie starkly on the ground;
Cold relentless sun.

Ticking woodpecker
Chitters in the ice cold morn.
Just a distant sound.

Sun shines through the woods
Pine needles glow and glimmer;
Dead brown leaves glisten.

Ladder in the woods;
Bright orange on the dead leaves.
Stepping to nowhere.

Lean, brown and shiny
The Schnauzer sits like a statue.
He's had a haircut.

A crisp March morning;
The crows caw above the barn;
Bird sits on a wire.

Smell of burning wood,
Then passing school bus fumes--
Two roadside perfumes.

Two old brown scuffed shoes
Skewed awkwardly near the fence
Waiting for some feet.

An open mail box:
Post man didn't shut its mouth;
Now it stands yawning.

In a frozen hunch
The black dog squeezes a poop
Then trots on its way.

Today's companion:
The black dog travels with me.
We go in silence.

Nose deep in the leaves
The dog studies a new scent
Then pisses again.

It's a moist gray day;
The woods are still and quiet.
Everything's waiting.

Snow on the tree's crotch
Autumn leaves hang from a limb;
Both signs of time passed.

Everything is still:
Brown woods, snow patches, gray sky;
Above--noiseless bird.

Orange cabin light
Gleams down the hill through the woods;
Gray morning beacon.

Fungus on dead tree
Sits high on the branches
Gleaming its whiteness.

A pregnant gray sky;
School bus flashes its red lights;
I feel a rain drop.

Birds twitter in sky
Gray and pregnant with moisture;
A dove coos softly.


A moist blue gray day;
Near the barn a woman rakes;
Birds cry in the sky.

Snow field's disappeared
Leaving a vast brown expanse.
Winter's really gone?

Woodpecker is back
Rat a tatting out of sight.
Unfortunate grubs.

My pen is long gone
Buried by fall and winter.
Still I look for it.

Dog shit in the road;
Beer can lies against oak tree.
Two animal's waste.

A chorus of geese
Fly unseen through the thick clouds;
Only their sounds moves.

Old dog licks himself;
Other one scratches his ear.
Doggie ablutions.

Softball in bushes
Across the road from football.
Two abandoned toys.

It's like a ghost town;
All the houses are quiet
Under the gray sky.

Dead squirrel on the road
Crushed like a flat gray pancake
Squirliness result.