This Muddled Season

Poor rhododendrons

Don't understand the whiteness

On them or the ground. 

It's April 19

(January one hundred and ninth);

Is Fall tomorrow?

Some snow has settled

Like whitened musical notes

On the wire fence.

Again the field is white;

Again the dripping snow trees

Again the hope of Spring.

With an ice blanket

Green buds journey continues;

They know it's Springtime.

Clear drops of water

Hanging next to the ice and snow

This muddled season.

Rain drops in the pond

Radiate ever outward,

Breaking on the bank.

Like a coiled white snake:

Long piece of pipe in the field

(Will strike at nothing.)

(Dreams of Summer Now?)

I do hate the squirrels;

I hate the squirrels very much;

Thus my morning mood.

He keeps on trying;

This squirrel is so ingenious;

All to no avail.

Small roaring rivers

Join and race before my house:

Yesterday's rainfall.

Lakes on the lawn;

As if they've always been there.

(Maybe they have been.)

Cold wind up the road;

Cloud filled sky without sunshine;

Officially Spring.

Stream bed is happy;

No torrents but constant flow;

Maybe it is Spring.

Roadside pool is full;

Winter dreams have been realized;

(Dreams of summer now?)

Toc jogs up the hill;

Trish follows at her own pace;

A happy couple.

With Small Purple Tongues

Sunshine all around,

Covering my lawn and porch;

Spring day of promise.

The trees shake and bow;

Forsythia doesn't move--

Still waits for its cue.

Is Buddha smiling?

Does he enjoy the sunshine too?

Can even stones smile?

Old straggly tree

Joined at the base of the barn.

Which was there first?

No clouds in the sky;

Dark shadows engrave the road;

Faint chorus of birds.

Opening slightly,

Tentative buds greet the Spring

With small purple tongues

Their lines never meet--

These shadows in the forest:

Plain geometry.

Jogging up the hill,

Male jogger is exhausted;

Gasps for breath at top.

Spanning the Seasons

                                                                             

Snow's still on the ground

But everything says it's Spring,

Even the gray blue sky.

Christmas ornament

Still glistens red on the tree;

Always draws my eye.

Swings and chairs empty;

Where are the joyous asses

That fill these blank seats?

Tiny white cluster

Arising amidst the dead leaves;

Spanning the seasons.

The old truck rattles

As it bounces down the road;

Loud in emptiness.

Many cut down trees

Lying by the side of the road

Are still white with life.

A lone goose travels

Unseen in the morning haze;

Then his call's gone, too.

Chewing on something,

Rosie's discovered some dreck;

She's almost smiling.