In a clearing,
amongst the scran 'n frame
of winter's naked trees
that bow this way 'n that
to the capricious wind,
sits the screen house
all closed in with its seasonal wrap,
plastic sheeting translucent like an iced lake,
but vertical and wavy
when the breeze blows through here,
but inside the sun gathers
to collect itself in its own pleasure
and asks the question,
"Why is it so cold out there?"

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* My best friend from Maine emailed me
a photo of his screen house in winter that
he built on his fifty acre property with a view
of the coast 8 miles away.