over the fence the last gray snowbanks shrinking along the fence line, the maple bare against a washed blue sky, rooflines dripping down the street.

in the yard the yard gone soft and brown, one stubborn drift holding in the porch's shadow, the dog nosing the wet grass where the path used to be.

in your hand the mailbox wearing a cap of old snow with one robin perched on it, mid decision.

over the fence the maple in its first green haze, laundry on a neighbor's line beyond the fence, clouds moving fast.

in the yard the porch swept bare, the screen door propped open to air the house, a bicycle dropped flat in the yard mid errand.

in your hand a paint can and brush resting by the fence's newest white picket, still wet.

over the fence deep blue dusk over the rooftops, the maple heavy and dark, one planet out early.

in the yard the porch light on and the family on the steps with lemonade, the dog sprawled flat on the cool boards, the yard filling with fireflies.

in your hand a mason jar on the fence post, lid off, two fireflies inside and one on the rim, going free.

over the fence a green black sky rolling in over the street, lightning forked behind the maple, rain coming down in silver sheets.

in the yard everyone crowded under the porch roof watching it come, towels over shoulders, the gutter overflowing into a bucket.

in your hand the mailbox in the downpour, flag up, one soaked catalog curling out of its mouth.

over the fence bunting strung along every fence on the street, the far off glow of the big wheel over the rooftops, moths in the streetlight.

in the yard a wagon parked in the yard loaded with a giant stuffed rooster and a ribboned pie, the dog inspecting it, the porch light burning for the late walk home.

in your hand a blue ribbon pinned to the mailbox and a half finished caramel apple on the fence post.

over the fence the maple tipped with its first gold, the school bus stopped at the corner with its lights on.

in the yard a kid at the fence gate under a too big backpack, a mother waving from the porch in a robe, the dog held by the collar so it does not follow.

in your hand a lunchbox on the fence post with a note taped to the lid, forgotten.

over the fence the maple in full flame, the street carpeted red and gold, the block's first chimney smoke.

in the yard a leaf pile the size of a car in the yard with two kids mid jump above it, the rake against the fence, the dog already buried to the neck.

in your hand one perfect maple leaf pressed flat on the mailbox lid, big as a dinner plate.

over the fence fat flakes falling through the porch light's halo, the maple bare again, roofs going white down the street.

in the yard the yard erased to smooth blue white, one set of boot prints out to the fence and back, the dog watching from the lit front window.

in your hand the mailbox catching snow on its lid, flag down, a knit mitten resting on the fence post where somebody set it and forgot it.

over the fence the whole street glowing, garland on the fences, candles in every window, snow banked deep against the pickets.

in the yard the porch wrapped in lights with a wreath on the door, footprints from three directions converging at the gate, the dog in a sweater on the top step.

in your hand a plate of cookies balanced on the mailbox with a note under the ribbon, addressed to the plow driver.

over the fence midnight blue stillness, the snow holding the streetlight's glow, one far window flickering with a party.

in the yard the porch light and the kitchen window the only lights on the corner, a figure in the doorway with a mug and the dog beside them, their breath fogging together.

in your hand the mailbox wearing a full crown of snow, the year's last card frozen in its mouth, and the maple's shadow laid clean across the untouched yard.