Winter

winter rain –

bicycles rust

in the tin shed

stone Jesus

with outstretched arms –

the falling snow

cold dawn –

huddled together,

rural mailboxes

snowflakes –

trout stir

in the clear stream

 

starry night –

out on the highway

a truck changes gears

between the treetops

and bright stars –

puffs of white clouds drift

cold front –

the wind pushes around

a child’s swing

sleet falls

in the gray dusk –

a church bell tolling

pink sunset

through the bare trees –

the river darkens

late night

with Ryokan –

I warm the rice wine

black pines;

a glittering sky –

ah, the cold!

early snow –

one more winter

for that old horse

 

cold night -
stars so near

we speak in whispers

small town –

the panhandler

is wearing my old coat

ordinary once more,

the corner where stood

the Christmas tree

winter weekdays –

telling time

by the school bus

a fire barrel’s warmth –

towering above us,

the city lights

in a bare tree –

the thin cross

of a child’s kite

a solitary life –

a hole neatly dug

in the winter sod

in the bare tree,

tugging here and there –

a heart-shaped balloon

 

a graveside silence –

dead leaves rattle

in the limbs overhead

near the hearth

the sleeping hound

gives chase

running shy of words,

the late-night campers 
gaze into the embers

winter evenings –

warming ourselves

by separate fires

 

onset of winter –

taking a path

no one will share

a night of snow –

she keeps

to her side of the bed

admiring my new coat –

most likely the last

I’ll ever buy

 in the small print
of my calender – 
Valentine’s Day 

graveside prayers –

my church shoes leaking

in the gray snow

sleeting;

in the restaurant window,
a family celebration

midwinter –

a sky the same shade

as the snow

overnight snow;

I choose a path
no one has taken

night of snow –

a log settles deeper

into the embers

winter solstice –  

the snowman dons

the scarecrow’s hat

 

between tree shadows,

the paved road   

flecked with moonlight

colder days –

everything  

clearer now

morning tea;   

a dusting of snow

has muted the sparrows

a valley of hardwoods –

through the snowscape,

a roaring river  

winter beach;  

a sparrow perched

on a rubbish bin

denuded by winter –

the prim

hardwoods

pale moon;

the ghosts behind me –

skittering leaves

cradled in the pines,
overnight snow;

empty-handed, the hardwoods

my new Christmas tree

rearranging    

the living room shadows

winding two-lane – 

the moon rolls around

the Appalachian mountains

winter walk -
a wire fence stitching together

two snowscapes

winter hardwoods –

light from a moon 

the color of snow

beech leaves – 

the last daubs of color

in the hardwood grove

calling again,  

after a week’s rain –

the owl near my window

a silent landscape;

under my boots,  

the crunch of snow

cold rain – 

the bus pulls back

onto the highway

like a teardrop –

a single star   

in the hardwood boughs

snow collecting

in the pines;   

empty-handed, the hardwoods

evening snow –

I boil okra,   

the color of summer

after days of snow –

stars    

glittering

pale moon;  

the ghosts behind me –

skittering leaves

a light snow;  

the smudge of a path

through the hardwood grove

daybreak –   

at the back gate,

the quarreling of crows

from the snowscape,

rising –  

a day moon

midwinter slush;

the gray breast  

of a chipping sparrow

frigid morning –

the harbor fog    

has unmoored the outbuildings

posting valentines –

I lift the little red flag

of my mailbox 








  

it sounds like the sea –

the wind   

through the pines

bitters winds;

the moon 

a sliver of ice

my old house –

cantankerous  

in the winter rain

after the snow –

only the wind,    

soughing through the pines

not much larger than a moth –

chickadees cavort  

outside my window

glazed snowscape – 

the sliver of a moon 

wrapped in mist

February warm spell;

the crocuses   

lift their sleepy heads

frigid night –  

a stray breeze

finds the porch chimes

moonlight    

on the snowscape

pales the night

last daubs of snow –

a sparrow hopping about

the brick alley  

midwinter –

rain blurs the other side

of the valley








  

shrouded in mist,

pines on the far shore;

ah, the cold!  

winter’s end –  

a yellow sun settles

amidst the naked trees

hastily arranged – 

the fatwood and kindling,

this frozen morning

skimming the withered field –

squawking crows;

their shadows  

stepping out

for another log –

ah, the stars!  

Sunday morning –

church bells unmuted

in the chill air

a north wind,

bitter on my skin,

ruffles the tops of trees

on distant mountains

the soft blur

of naked hardwoods

winter’s end – 

whitetail deer

drift through the hardwoods

winter ends –

here and there, dead leaves 

still cling

winter’s end –

a gray dusk

settles among the pines

end of winter –

small birds flitting about

the sunlit grove

on winter lawns,

dead leaves, like sparrows,

hop and flee

full moon

above the vast,

frosty fields

light rain –

in the hardwood grove,

foraging deer

winter’s end –

a redbird

in a bare tree

after the snow –

the sky

a deeper blue

birds on the wire;

snow falling

at a steep angle

walking the trestle;

snow falling

under me

moonlit snow;

the tinkling wind chimes;

ah, the cold!

an overnight snow 

has emptied

the sky 

above the plyboard   

Nativity,

the Milky Way

the white wing-bands

of a mockingbird 

in the bare gray woods

warm spell; 

sparrows rustle

the dead leaves

above

the stiff pines,

a blurred moon

ice in the tire ruts;     

wood smoke adrift

in the hollow

my shadow and I 

walking a tree trunk’s

shadow

first light; 

a walk   

among the birdsong

cold evening; 

climbing a hill

towards the moon

winter solitude;

steam rising  

from my sake cup

overnight rain; 

under my footsteps,

the muted leaves

a moon sliver, 

fading in and out

among the clouds

cold morning;

my every hammer blow

echoes across the valley

deep winter;  

the shush of wind

through the bare trees

morning walk;

a lone crow 

gives me an earful

during the night,

how softly

fell the snow

the moon 

above the horizon –

it’s like a crust of bread

cutting through

a bare branch –

the sickle moon

at the bottom 

of the ravine,

patches of cloud and sky

meadow path;

the whole blue sky

belongs to me 

after the snow –

only the wind,

soughing through the pines

snowscape;

in the valley of hardwoods

a roaring river

family plot;

my name

on every stone

my friend’s grave;

the hole in the snow, 

neatly dug

cloudless sky;

the crisscross

of vapor trails

above

the snowscape,

Orion