September 22, 2012
December 17, 2010
Light flows from the early east; a proof it's morning.
The trees watch as if it were nothing.
Ravens dream of home as they rest on a familiar pole.
Shadows make ink on the new winter grey.
On the ground, plants curve up from their tiny past.
The black cat roams in constant directions; but maybe he's just following me.
The ice will not move where the waterfall froze; but gusts of wind blow clouds of snow sideways.
There will be time to think about the shadows the fence made later.
After all, it's time to go inside and enjoy the fire.
writing and photographs by Fred Peace