fog drifts through branches rigid with ice
Tag: trees
beside the oak
with a huge round hole an uncanny silence
south roof icicles
no less grotesque for being spindly
fresh snow
a boil on the black birch looks good enough to lick
damp with snowmelt
the oak log’s colors are so bright I have to touch
inside the deer fence
the 200-year-old white oak isn’t stirring
dead locust bark
alive with color in between the cracks
foggy woods
the sassafras follows a crooked route to the sky
a tree too tall to stay
shadows of six-inch weeds stripe the stump
in the spotlight’s glare
the dark sky dissolves into snowflakes
spirit world
