cold rain
barbed wire in the middle
of an oak

the flock’s wings —
one bird veers
into silence

first snow
he promises to write
a new will

first snow
deer enter the orchard
on tiptoe

leaves falling . . .
some on the boulder,
some in the stream

the falcon
tugs at her tether —
shortest day

ice patch
the surprising strength
of mother’s grip

after the burial . . .
my father’s smile
on so many faces

mountain stillness —
the loon call
held by the lake

a corner of dry leaves
she slowly folds
the second opinion