GHOST SHADOWS
Feb. 2012                                         Pat Spilseth




Ghost shadows of white

drift through pine, elm and maples

as the snow storm continues

its path through the silvered winter woods.



The icy perfume of pine

sifts through green feathered branches

and scatters lacy flakes like raindrops



Dreams of spring buds and sweet rain die

as the icy north wind

blows its fury cross my path.

Impeded by walls of snow

I trudge through meringue snowdrifts

towards home.



I know these woods

Cross-country skiers and deer

race through maples and pine..

Raccoons and coyotes

build nests in the tall maples.



Kids know these woods

They build forts and hunt for treasure

String rope to slide through the trees

snowboard, ski and play ball.

I watch them.

I smile, remembering…



I know these trees

their nude limbs stretch, almost reaching the stars.

Pine tree ballerinas in dark green gowns

dance every spring and winter

to blowing winds

orchestrating their way east

to solo in my land of woods and lake.