A dusting of snow blankets
weathered limbs, bare
beneath barren skies,
as I shudder from the cold.
March’s milky sunshine knifes
through clouds, my upturned
face warmed beneath a sea
of pink blossoms.
Flitting from branch to branch,
sparrows peck ripened
fruit, oblivious
to tourists shuffling past.
An October gust buffets
half-clothed trees
and scatters bronze leaves
down the gravel path.
