drifting snow

with the wind’s attention  to detail

old farm dump

the refrigerator open  to more snow

a mourning cloak’s  black velvet

old silk threads  new caterpillars  of snow

the pond’s island
of ice

a timberdoodle’s high  fluttery whistle

a dog in the valley
adds its voice

The feeling that something is about to happen, out here where nothing ever happens…

ice falling from the trees  over here

a stump-water pool
glassy with ice

the blurry line between
winter snd spring

Visiting Dad’s grave yesterday, I had a strong sense of his absence amid the fundamental indifference of nature.