the sun on snow
we bask like turtles
where we can
White River Blue Sky
Still
the climbing vine
suspended in motion
green growth still a dream
Sleepy House
eyelid of ice
the window
half closed
Across The Lake
the deciduous grove
in winter reveals
an intimate topography
The Long Fence
white posts and rails
stretch farther than memory
fastening the farm in place
Sparkle
morning light
on last night’s
weightless accumulation
White Hive
the storm today
swarming
like bees
The Playhouse In The Pines
March is a time
of being between things
watching winter through the sun porch window
My Orange Sun
warming me
with color
on these gray days
The Dairy’s Driveway
in the winter
like the cows
mostly black and white
Melt
only the sun knows
when the roofline
will give way
The Orchard In Winter
revealing the sense
of being solitary
inside togetherness
Power
forcing bulbs seem
to speed the arrival
of spring
Welcomed
the softness
and mysterious white light
oh to be enveloped in silence
Waiting
long line of cattails
standing patiently in the cue
for spring
Why Not?
I don’t see how
it hurts the birds
to have them share
Stillness Settles On
in February
only snow
ascends the hay ladder
Which Way
no right way
straight or meandering
still arriving at the same place
Winter Is A Spider
weaving with cold
leaving an icy web
to catch the days upon
Time’s Vision
the barn’s
one empty window
an all seeing eye
Calligraphy Of Leaves
the story of summer
written in winter
told by the fall
This Morning Didn’t Rise
some winter days
never seem to wake
they dream through to the next night
A River Seal Revealed
sniffing the air
perched on the birch stump
surprise visit from a fin-footed friend
This Season’s Thinness
a winter lean of snow
the ribs of old corn rows
still visible
Solidarity
secrets shared
between
rocks and ice
Holding Place Until The Lamps Are Lighted
an insistence
of light within
the gathering grey
The Buddha Sits
neither chasing
nor evading
what is
All Those Times Of Reaching Out
each one mattered
even now
with the limbs foreshortened
Come Home Soon
watching for the neighbor’s light
their curl of chimney smoke
to feel so not alone
February’s Gate
ready to swing wide open
for any and all
kinds of kindness and love