A poem to hide behind

Well, I've been busy:

watching the bipolar's doublewide
halved, plastic-wrapped and pulled out
of the woods barely clearing the gate,
no idea how long we haven't and therefore
where she or the comers and goers;
waiting for the fog to clear for rain
and snow on the peak given that name;
acres of downed and burned Christmas trees
and wondering why, so shapely,
perhaps past some prime in the business;
ten more acres up the road burned unaided;

the birds: the meme of murmuring
I guessed by two weeks, the sky full
of geese, pulled north but for rest,
hesitant, only if the rest; a pair of wrens;
three pairs of mallards shopped the pond
so we shall repeat the tamest of the lot
and suspect a day or two of photo op;
frog too, readying a go at it and just in time
as the wife has bought a new clock radio
with white noise options and battery back-up;
and they say it's about to turn cold again.