diseased laurel leaves

red and green against the snow— Merry fucking Christmas

Thanksgiving day

nothing but the sound of the wind hissing in the weeds

their stains leak in thin tendrils down the face of the wall

even with these special seats squirrels still make a mess

now the leaves get more of the sky than just sunlight

pale clumps of mountain laurel light our way

slumming it in the leaf duff still looks fabulous

fine hairs stirring from the photographer’s breath

I take a break from organizing my files

transported to the mountaintop food for eagles

as if some logger felled a tree of ice

shoes dangle by their laces where we used to climb