The World Reflected

 

Sun shines through rain drops;
Snow melting on the ground;
A "wintery mix".

 Shining birch tree trunks
Glisten in the morning sun;
Drips fall from the eaves.

 

 In a single drop
Hanging from the branch's tip--
The world reflected.

In the snow white field
The solar reflector stands
Waiting hungrily.

 

Bent by last year's snow
Fence stands for this year's onslaught--
Seasonal jousting.

Mirrors in the snow--
Ice puddles shimmer in the woods
Alive with motion.

The old stumps are white,
Their dark cracks covered with white--
Transformed familiar.

 

My chattering mind
Never says anything new.
Squirrel races ahead.

Sun, Rocks, Leaves--and Me

 Sun rises over trees:

Sky is muted blue gray;

There is just silence.

 

Furnace starts to hum:

Not a breeze stirs the pine trees.

It's going to be cold.

 

 Olivia moos,

She knows that Susan is near.

Breakfast is coming.

 

 Dog with high pitched bark

Sounds like angry little girl--

Not too threatening.

 

Shadows get longer

As sun rises through the woods;

Tall tree tops are brightest.

 

Still no sign of snow

Half way through January.

(Me complaining? Yes!)

 

Brown leafed tree in woods

Looks just like the others;

But it's on its side.

 

When the cars have passed

Road belongs to us again:

Sun, rocks, leaves--and me.

As I Return Home

Sun breaks through the gray;
(Isn't it always this way?)
And the gray returns.

 

The snow is waiting;
Hidden in the gray clouds--
Imminent presence.

 

White horns in dark barn--
Olivia tosses head
Munching on her hay.

 

Walker with cell phone
Passes trees, fields and chickens
Focused on her ear.

Under muted skies
Stream mirrors become clearer;
Dimness makes brightness.

 

Patches of blue
Give an instant of sunlight.
Just a reminder.

 

Soft old mullein plant
Grows next to the Stump Buddies--
Winter settlement.

 

My tread is lighter
Climbing the upward road bend
As I return home

 

Turning Back Towards Home

Pine trees slowly bend;

Pick up swishes past the house--

All silent motion.

 

Bird in the bushes--

Silhouette in bare branches,

Flutters limb to limb.

Patiently they wait,

My two trusty garbage pails

For my weekly crap.

Nothing is stranger

Than the view from my side lawn.

(I rarely see it.)

 

The former white blooms

Hang round and full from the bush.

Now they are dried brown.

 

A log with mushrooms

Lies across the dry stream bed;

Beyond it, water.

Wind often whispers

As I round the same corner

Turning back towards home.

 

When I stand stock still

Only the wind is speaking,

In sibilant tones.

With Just A Whisper

 

A balmy Spring day--
First week of January.
(Do pigs really fly?)

I have no excuse
To avoid the sun and warmth.
Rooster keeps crowing.

Rhododendron bud
Swells, anticipating Spring.
We are all confused.

Stump, charred black with age;
Burnt by the wind and the sun;
Weathers it again.

Letters on the ground
Surrounded by dead brown leaves--
Mystery message.

Gentle rustling wind
Shakes the slender pine sapling
With just a whisper.

A distant walker
Rounds the road bend far ahead
And then she is gone.

Yawning blank windows
Stare out from the ancient shack
Reflecting darkness.

Puffs of Green Sunlight

 

Puffs of green sunlight;
Pine trees turn into cloud puffs
In magic morning.

A slight darkening--
Instant of a passing cloud;
Becomes memory. 

 

 It's almost balmy;
I've lost track of the season--
Winter, Spring or Fall?

 Frost has disappeared;
Still the hens peck at the ground.
Must be something there.

 

 Through the brown blanket
Translucent green leaves poke up.
Plane hums in blue sky.

 

Labyrinth of green:
Pine needles glisten in sun.
Even steel fence shines.

 

 

Trees turn into light;
The sun alchemizes them:
Poof! Transformation.

 
In the roadside shade
The long stream remains frozen;
Different universe.