Welcome, foggy mornings and frosty dusks;
welcome, mud, in which new seeds are soaking.
New changes sweep away the old year’s husks—
stone wall shakes with sounds of squirrels fucking.
Buds on beech each hold a water droplet:
opals resisting gravity — for now.
Nature adds several greens to grey palette,
and though fields are not quite ripe for the plough
both arborist and vintner are pruning,
shaping their gardens to long-chosen goals.
Snowfall, storm-cloud, and sleet are still looming,
yet pond-ice seems riddled with melted holes…
and when winter sunshine deigns to appear,
light lasts much longer, and disk seems more near.
