Sculptures of Brown Forests

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In Winter I see the hills all over the neighborhood.

Here I was struck by the variations

of hues in the sky

as the clouds slowly moved on,

and the trees gently swayed

in their sparse Winter dress,

tinged with the gold of an elusive afternoon sun.

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Most of the year, these branches

would hang heavy like a leafy curtain.
But in Winter, they draw back
to reveal distant hilltops.
And our Valley becomes wild and wide and open
like a great spacious plain
filled with sculptures of brown forests.

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The creek shimmers and sparkles,

a liquid mirror of afternoon light.

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And at six in the evening

comes the surprise of sunset

red like clay as it thickens into twilight

behind the shadowy hilltop vigil

of a solitary oak.

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