Yardwork

Out of the darkness
The whiteness looms.

It creeps up the trees
And down the bark
And across the branches.

Fragments litter the ground
Like pale autumn leaves
Caught in a chill breeze
To flutter here and there.

The ghosts move among them
Waving fragile fronds
That leap to and fro,
Covering the masses.

Wan spinners,
Curving arcs,
Flying streamers
Fill the air.

Ah, the joys of toilet paper.