this is no echo

spring storms in the far distance

their thunder is real

clinking of hailstones
long stalks bow in the swift wind
drought is not broken

pale dusting of snow
on the green next to flowers
mixup of seasons

perfection of form
branches bare of all their leaves
winter's deepest heart

so brief the white snow
thin the ice on our small pond
frogs' eggs in cold mud

deer eating our leaves
their hoofprints marking bare mud
life in the suburbs

midwinter and rain
dripping steadily down pipe
cleansing our small world

inside the warmest
thoughts filling our tired minds
as we sip our tea

out of the darkness
swaying shapes of the bare trees
dance against the grey

night takes time to fade
fogs and steams fill the valleys
a lone dog may bark

shadows in silence
with crisp edges of sunlight
on dry autumn day

eyes on the ceiling
steady reflections of thought
others fear the snow

i have no message
for those who will not listen
yet still one for you