Winter Dragon

Ice claws

hang from the roof,

drip spring;

not fast enough.

Be quick. Be gone.

When the Winter Comes

On every twig and rail and jutting spout,

The icy spears were adding to their length

Against the arrows of the coming sun.

Henry David Thoreau

Lines from Thoreau's poem entitled

Within the Circuit of This Plodding Life

Saturday

Outside
icicles grow,

dripping from the eaves
and from the bird feeders.

 

 

 

Inside,

fragrance fills our home.

So it does,  Irish Stew

and Irish Soda Bread.

 

Slow dripping

and slow cooking...

Saturday

sublime.

Silent Sunday

 

 

Winter light on the birches

 

Icicles melting fast

 

 

Pair of ducks out marching

 

 

And pine boughs sweeping snow.

 

 Silent Sunday.