Winter

Brightfrost sparkles now;

a white glaze drapes the pavement.

It's quiet, don't slip.

Ash

Thick smoke turns to crisp vapor.

A tint of orange

leaps out from my frail finger.

Wings

The butterflies dance

— a flutter above flowers.

The earth is yearning.

The birds

A chirp, a cry, and a song.

All the birds and I,

We aren't so different.