Tree bark grows
a lichen rose.
Send Off
Day departs
painting the sky
riotous colors.
Winter Clings
to the sides of things
until April dissolves her hold.
Three Posts
At the edge of the woods
stand three posts on which to hitch
your worries, your troubles, your cares.
You’ll find you won’t need them when you return.
Revelation
Morning exposes
nearly blinding brilliance.
Winter’s majesty is not done with us.
Ice Jam
After an incomplete thaw
the river becomes its own obstacle.
Ode to Winter
The wind writes its snowy message
along the frozen river.
Room
In the open space
dreams collect like clouds
creating my horizon.
Winter’s Crop
Fields of snow
are harvested
by the sun and ground.
Tree’s Totem
Conjoined the twin trees stand
held in place by spirit
despite death and decay.
Slope
Nearness
You know the divine.
It radiates light and calls you to it.
Sometimes its name is beauty.
Gallant-Tree
In the thickest part of the thicket
where the footing was most precarious
a branch held my weight and restored my balance.
Chivalry lives in the woods.
The Choir
Seedheads sing
winter’s carols
in the wind.
Curls
Golden girl of the forest
the birch wears its bark
in a cascade of curls.
Outcropping
The granite ledge
makes itself known
by refusing all trees.
Halo
Blessed is the humble seed
who is the spirit of the earth
Out of the Woods
Suddenly sunlight
and the meadow appears.
The dark treacherous trail
becomes a gentle winding path.
Aspiration
Branches reach
through blue sky and clouds
to touch the heavens.
River Run
Sunlight skates
atop the river
gliding on the cold
Ocean Grass
the meadow waves
lap at the birch shore line
Balance
becomes possible
by accepting
circumstances.
Winter’s Approach
Ice creeps across the marsh.
Pine trees await their white winter coats.
Cold sharpens the silence.
Sugared Maple
The frozen world
creates the leaf’s
next incarnation of beauty
Cold Creek
The creek moves fast cutting its way
through the meadow towards the river
trying to outrun the inevitable freeze.
Homemaking
seeds take
feathered flight
for monarchs’ sake.
Old Man Frost
leaves his whiskers behind
when he runs through the woods
chasing moonbeams and sunshine.
The Bird Box
In silent anticipation
the whole marsh waits for
the grace of the bluebird’s arrival.
Awake
I dream
of golden clouds
and painted fields.
Foothold
the ancient ones
leave their footprints
above and below the land.
