Everything's Waiting

It's going to snow soon;
Air is moist and not too cold;
Birds seem to be rushed.

Ladder on the fence;
Hens cluster in their shelter;
Everything's waiting.












Ice along the bank
Reaches out tentatively,
But the stream rushes.

Tiny leaf cluster
Hangs on the bare branch tip.
It's early (or late).

Inside: t.v. glows;
Outside: a stream is frozen.
Two universes.

Moss ghost in the tree.
Or is it a transformed bird?
Possibilities.









Wind murmurs, sun breaks;
Shadows appear on the road;
Rocks and woods light up.

Silent and unseen
The wind quivers the fir trees;
They shake, dance and bow.

Slow the World Freezes

Crisp sunny morning;
Two crows scolding in the woods;
Ice ponds on the ground.









Mouth open and still
Cow stands at entrance to barn
The warmth behind her.







Crystalline branches
Shine in the cold morning sun.
Ice hangs over stream.








Glowing on a branch
A red translucent ball hangs.
Where does it come from?

Sharp morning shadows
Are cast by the freezing sun.
Still the stream babbles.









Puddles and tree stumps
Turn white and become frosted.
Slow the world freezes.

Old grizzled walrus
Does not smile from its rock perch
With icicle teeth.









Slender tongues of ice
Lick across the roadside stream
And stay suspended.

Still Unknown Beyond

The steps are frozen;
Icicles hang from the boards--
A cold wintry mix.







Freezing misty rain
Ices the road, fogs the trees.
Car headlights glow.









Freezing tent cocoon
Glows translucent in the mist;
Caterpillars gone.







On the thin brambles
Drops of frozen water hang;
Stopped before they fell.

Gray shining pavement
Curves down to familiar bend
Still unknown beyond.









Sitting silently
Abandoned house does nothing;
Grass grows on its roof.








White X on the pole
Painted in haste by someone
Clearly marks the spot.





Fading into mist
The trees march into blankness
Like ghosts on parade.

From an Unseen Place

Tilted to the side
Road sign seems almost jaunty,
Hailing travelers.

Ripples on the pond
Are shiny and motionless;
Perhaps they're frozen.

Surrounded by ice
Shiny stream presses forward
Through narrow passage.








From an unseen place
The faint chimes of a clock sound--
Eleven o'clock.

Standing and punctured,
Carved by bugs and woodpeckers--
Truly holy tree.












Across the tree trunk
Stretching slender thin and arched--
Shadow of a frown.

Sprouting from the rock
Thin tree trunk curves to the sky
Leaving bits of stone.

Lying in the sun
Pine cone dwarfed by its shadow
Seems formidable.

Hat in the brambles,
Faded now and camouflaged
Part of the bushes..

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?