Through the distant bare limbed trees,
all white with frost this winter day
the sun peeks with the slightest tease
blinking the last of night away.

A few doves rocket through the gelid sky
bound somewhere to break their fast.
For them speed limits don't apply.
I wave at them and then they're passed.

Clouds of breath drift toward the south
propelled by the barest chilly breeze
then I breathe tasting winter in my mouth
here where the field abuts old trees.

Then with a blink of time and eyes
the scene becomes tinted pale green
with pollen flavoring warm blue skies
during this season of in between.

Another blink and air turns hot
with woodlands curtained in deep green,
sweat drips from my nose like thinned snot
as I watch wild turkeys putt and preen.

I turn my head, quickly look back
as foliage burns with autumn's blaze
seen as dawn begins to crack
and the distant song of a hound plays.

Eyes to the sky then I look down
at jackfront underneath my boot
here a few miles out of town
as winter once again takes root.

Then the blinks and shutter snaps
all speed up as the years go by
in a life lived beyond most maps.
I know it's trite but the years fly.

Until here I am at the same place
the woods still old, the field now pines
which I lean against needing a brace
and ponder about life's designs
then shuffle off with an uneven pace
hoping one more winter, at least, to face.