salvage

massive trees are strewn about
the twisted wood
and now I doubt
my motives
in the
plan I
made
to have
the
fallen
trees
relayed
from the
old sod
that holds
their roots
to trucks and saws by men in boots as ruddy as their solemn faces, men who seem to see no grace in timber stands except for signs of dollars gained by clearing vines and limbs from logs of heartwood hard and split and driven miles and miles away and given to the mill for boards and pulp. 
I sign, I sigh, and cry and gulp.

Wind

came up quick in rapid pace
and then blew down
in fractal grace
a power
so much
more
than
these
aged
mighty
many
trees
with roots
as soggy as the sod
that rice fed oxen often trod.

I thought that I might make a trail through ancient woods that would prevail in beauty deeper than my death, but now I see how Nature takes the Life from here just to remake a field of dreams that only She in random vision will let Be.

some of the older oaks

are still holding to their leaves.

Caps are popping

up a bit

in between the leaves.

redundancy

In all,
the days have gone so fast
that I did not
could not
get past the pile of duties
that I say
kept me from here
until this day.

winter

keeps a steady pace
of snow and ice and
wind burned face.

I swear they said
the other day that
cold this year
would stay away.

birds

at the feeder
flap about
and flip the seed parts
into snow.