Even in this old farmhouse the highway's rumble shakes the winter air. --- Old farmhouse morning-- even here, the highway's groan shakes the winter air.
The repotted palm grows up, expanding into the thin new layer.
In the early dark I gather eggs, the chickens cooing and clutching.
Big wind in bare boughs, my thoughts swirl furiously around this gray house.
In a looping arch the red-belied woodpecker linking two branches.
This mild thaw makes us giddy--dog, husband, and wife on a midday walk.
So many hours at the monitor--I see you, two-dimensional.
Gloved numb fingers--thud! The sledge drives the kindling down onto the cracker.
Cardinals scrapping with juncos with each other over fallen grain.
The frozen chicken poop does not stick to my boots-- a winter mercy.
The one I target gets away--chickens leaping, flapping and squawking.
Hating the ringing din, my husband continues splitting the firewood.
The sunrise obscured in a gray haze of freshly falling white snowflakes. --- Freshly falling white snowflakes--the sunrise obscured in a gray haze.
Growing shorter, old tan grass, waving in the wind, steady snow falling.
The cooling beeswax peels from its mold--a crackle across the kitchen.