Colored leaves fall

and then reveal

the shapes of winter's trees,

in images surreal.

Stick-figures all, stretched

against lowering skies,

frame a leafless parkland

through winter's eyes.

By the cold streambeds,

sycamores peel and grate;

at the edge of the wood,

bare beeches congregate.

There's no leafy camouflage

for winter's birds of prey;

now the hawks and elms

wait for a longer day.