Altissimo Snow

Well today there was no easiness of winter.  Just ask my muscles after shoveling for several hours to still not make it out to go to work.  Too much snow.

But oh well:  here is another poem.


Icy Branches

Icy  branches break off
and catch in the hair of my head.
Reaching my numbed fingers up
to grap the cold wood dyed
in colors of night and rest,
I pull the stem gently
from its nest of hair and drop
it to the ground,
like a child with a newly
purchased pet fish
and a glass globe,
my fish a branch,
my globe full of fallen
brush and decayed
undergrowth. I shiver
delicate snowflakes
and sigh as the woody chip
joins the forest floor in a song
of the easiness of winter.