Twenty-ninth Stone

The leafless beech
bears hundreds of
seeds armed
against the cold
with prickly coats.

Twenty-eighth Stone

I feel comfort in
the crackle of a fire
mesmerized by the dance
of flames drawn by
the chimney's draft.

Twenty-seventh Stone

A grey and white canvas:
the fog lines the middle third
still and heavy, as if gravity
pulls it earthward seeping
into corners, draped on
hillsides and houses. Clouds
fill the upper third, pregnant
with snow, as still as the fog
but skybound. Against them,
moving from earth to sky,
chimney smoke curls and
coils upwards rising unbound.

Twenty-sixth Stone

drip
 drip
  drip
    drip
     drip
     r
     i
     p


           

Twenty-fifth Stone

Across the street
three lanterns light
the side entry to
the church's nave,
warm in the grey
twilight of a rainy
morning.

Twenty-fourth Stone

A black-capped chickadee
perches on the end
of a fallen pine branch,
a silent executioner
waiting.
   

Twenty-third Stone

I love a wintry morning
with its gleaming whites,
its soft silvers, pale yellows,
and washed out blues.
Even the sunlight is diffused
by bands of grey clouds,
and the trees stand leafless
except the winter ash
with its vermilion berries.