Hercules’-club

skinny shadows lead to thorny trunks

deep in the woods

the setting sun fingers two witch-hazels

trapped

snow so deep

any arrangement of sticks seems significant

snow squall

only the H is still visible on the No Hunting sign

snow-bound woods

root hairs on a toppled tree are the only gossamer

snowy right-of-way

weed stalks stipple the mountain laurel’s shadow

drifted snow

a doe follows the bootprints as far as she can

where the snow has melted

the mountain’s true skin slick & glistening

white with rime

the locust sapling looks electric beside the bowed spruce

back field

fog drifts through branches rigid with ice

beside the oak

with a huge round hole an uncanny silence