The sun through the trees
and the trees alive with birds,
part of me there, too.

The life that's hidden
in the long walk to the lake,
around it, and back.

Fine snow falls like mist
from the high branches of pines—
it feels like secrets.

Woodpecker drumming,
keeping my mind on the path,
these days I dream of.

Only the sound of crows,
the trees with arms full of snow,
we pass silently.

Camaraderie,
these three doves, snow on their backs,
teaching me patience.

Flocks of starlings fly
against the sky full of snow,
landmarks rearranged.

Looking for berries—
Robins out before the storm,
fly when I walk by.

From morning till night
I was aware of the sky—
birds and trees, the sun.