Just Frozen Sunlight

Shadow of a cow
Grazing in the blue tinged snow
Through kitchen window.

The tops of the trees
Are painted with soft sunshine
And scattered bird cries.

A cold frosty tinge
Covers the dead white branches,
Ghostly in the snow.

Gray in the morning
Fir tree is covered with frost;
Not now evergreen.












Bright diamond sparkles
Glisten in the morning sun
On the garbage cans.

Three rotting tree trunks
Stand together joined in death
As they were in life.












There are no cars now
This frigid Saturday morn;
Just frozen sunlight.

Crow cries are gentle;
Two of them fly side by side.
Perhaps they're friends.

Or What Lies Ahead

Before morning walk
Soft sunshine through the window
On my writing chair.

Around the corner
I don't know what will be there,
Or what lies behind.












Four tiny fairies
Hide in the deep dark caverns
Of the dead tree trunk.

In the tangled bush
A dark speck is motionless.
The bird sits watching.

A bench on the snow
Sits under the ornament;
Both are unemployed.

I wave at the cars
Not knowing who's inside.
They always wave back.

A single pine cone
Suspended in thin branches;
Middle of descent.












Ribbon on tree
Hanging like it belongs there.
What is its purpose?









Under stupid sign
The three colored boxes lie--
A garbage shell game.

Bouquet to the Past

Aquarius one;
A shifting of the sunlight?
Promises of Spring.

The crisp morning sun
Sharpens the darkness and light,
Etching hollowness.












"For Sale" sign is gone;
House is sold and people moved.
Small cataclysms.

Small snow ridge shadows
Form a wall along the road,
Stretching endlessly.

Sparkles in the snow
Behind my neighbor's sad face
Speaking his sorrows.

The woods are mottled;
Dark lines lie across the snow.
Smell of gasoline.









Against the slate rock
A sprig of dead brown leaves lie--
Bouquet to the past.

Ghost seed pods still hang,
Their whiteness matched by the snow.
Are they waiting for Spring?

A pale sun rising;
Still, breezeless winter morning.
Cars are rushing past.

Loud dog is barking;
Rooster's crowing to be fed.
All is good and well.













Laurie's behind the fence;
Chickens early waiting
Cluck with happiness.








Black and white on snow,
Little spaniel sits waiting--
For what? Just he knows.

Enclosed empty space
Made more barren by the weeds;
Its use forgotten.

Two dogs on the ice
Strain to get up the driveway.
How far will they get?





A stone in my boot
Reminds me with every step
That it snuck in there.











Top of the fir tree
Crow sits and crows proudly,
A black silhouette.

Can No One Hear Them?

Snow has turned to mist;
White slicked branches are dripping.
Birds flit back and forth.









Soft white flecks of snow
Float aimlessly from the sky,
Melting on the ground.










A light white frosting
Gently covers thin tree limbs
And the bushy fir.

The greenish lichen
Not to be outdone by trees
Catches its own snow.

A dark rectangle
Laid out in the white driveway--
Presence of absence.











How do so many
Snowflakes fall without a sound?
Can no one hear them?

White, the light snow falls;
Drops of water hang from limbs--
Neither here nor there.

Truck driver retreats;
He will not climb the steep hill.
(He'd rather be home).

Brief Intermission

Dripping from the eaves,
A temporary thawing
Covers my front porch.

Reflections on road--
Former ice becomes water;
Brief intermission.












Patches of light blue
Break through the overcast sky,
Just before the sun.

The snow is mushy;
Brown and slushy near the road;
Pock marked in the woods.

The shadows ripple
On the soft pockmarked snow field--
Slow dissolution.










Running down the hill,
Young woman jogs with a dog.
Who is chasing whom?

Bright warm sun greets me
Melting the ice in my heart.
Still, I shade my eyes.









Forlorn orange peel
Lies by the side of the road--
Strange winter color.

Some Parallel Lines

It's forty degrees;
A veritable heat wave.
Where has winter gone?

Beyond the fence slats
The birch tree stands in the snow;
Some parallel lines.












Shadows, sun and snow;
The little fir tree stands out--
Spidery green limbs.

Straight lines on the snow;
Parallel lines on the road:
Sun's geometry.

Rolling in the woods,
Wind announces its presence.
Shadows are still.

I don't take this fork
Though I pass it every day
Walking to unknown.









A wide gaping hole;
Window in abandoned shack
Broken and then left.

It feels like Spring now;
The sun is blinding and warm.
Still, the stream is iced.

Lighting The Birds' Wings

It's gray but not grim;
The transformer is humming;
A dog is barking.

Each and every day
Cow sees me for the first time;
And I see her, too.










Gray wood smoke billows,
Straight up and without bending.
Not even a breeze.

Elongated hole
Carved dark into the dead trunk:
Foot print on a tree.












Thumping in the woods,
Too light to be a hammer;
Not a woodpecker.


The cardinals have fled
From nests hear the "House for Sale."
Now it's abandoned.












Their limbs have been shorn:
Saplings by the side of road.
Can you hear the pain?

How softly the sun
Moves out from behind the clouds
Lighting the birds' wings.

Still, It's Green and Grows

Rubbing its big head
Cow scratches against a tree.
Life is so simple.

Standing at all times,
The sign marks the seasons;
Guides me on my way.

Beyond the wire fence
Scrawny twigs pop through the snow
Like grasping fingers.

Poking through the snow
Slender plants are still upright,
Waiting for the Spring.










Each frozen winter
Old wooden fence does its best
To hold back the snow.










Brown leaves of Autumn
Lie between the frozen snow;
They know no season.

The violet sumac
Seem even more radiant
In the frigid air.










Still, it's green and grows:
Strange tree, anchored on the rock
And fallen over.