winter sky? Trees
sleeping, sap coursing
slowly stopped by
these northern climes and
their accompanying chill.
The sound of sunlight, settled
like a theater's best ending,
shadowplay kept for
juncos and chickadees.
Gray like warm flannel on a
winter's night by the
fire, celestial feathers
cover like a goose's wing
over her chicks.
I tune my pencil, painting
this poem of treesound, cloudstill
and year's end, listening
for tomorrow's song.
