Wet skies, wet earth.
Black crows flying towards the river against the flat grey screen of a sky.
Dirty islands of old snow reverse themselves into nothing-ness.

The pleasant pleasure of morning sunlight cleaning my eyes & face & life.
The sounds of winter snow melting with the grace of noon.
Chickadees rocking out in the cedar hedge.
Cold, though.

Rays of sunlight push on through the patchy cloud cover, thrusting columns of promise, perhaps.
Birds bubbling with the sounds of morning.
The day warming up into itself.
The tiniest of brown ants catches my eye on the floor.

A street-gang of starlings hang out on a telephone line, while two crows look on from one side.
Diffused & even all-over winter light sits above me, no detail to speak of.
An orange tabby bounces through tracks in the snow, in a hurry, it seems.

A shimmering curtain of "fairy dust" dancing in the morning sunlight.
Starlings cry out in surround sound in the cold air.
The waxing moon aligns with Jupiter & Venus in the Southwestern sky just after sunset, a smear & two dots of distant light.
Night is cold & sharp as broken glass.

Weak, feeble sun, so distant, so wane opens the day.
Clumps of grey dog fur stuck to the icy path, shivering in the morning breeze.
Blue skies open up @ noon & blesses the day.
A small fuzzy dog zig-zags through the snow like a brown ant on a mission.

Red berries clinging to skinny trees.
Sun shining, strong & clean & right across the day.
Birds playing with joy, it seems.
Full moon in Cancer rising silently into the night sky, broadcasting her wisdom through the darkness of winter.
Milky moonlight bouncing off the wide sheets of frozen snow.

A million bare trees, sleeping in the snow.
Two dead deer, lying flat & still.
Great Falcon sitting high in a tree, taking it all in.
Snow falling, always.
Crows flying home to roost, spread out across the grey sky.

Cold air, sharp & stretched out tight & thin, just like me.
Snow dry & crumbly & crunchy below.
Half-moon in-becoming hanging up above, fuzzy on the cut edge.
Two shaggy crows sit on the end of a bare branch of large, solid birch tree, watching the winter world below.

Flat, dark sky lying flat-out all over the morning.
Skinny bare tree dusted with snow.
Daily life muffled by the cold weight of the dead of winter, it seems.