snowman’s forecast
it’s corn snow
barely packable
more the stuff of shave ice
than snowman
but they’re off
in one of the last drifts
packing their palms with icy white
till their warm blood goes cold
and skin burns red
in the end
he’s pint-sized and perky
stick arms aligned with the poles
pointing the way we’re headed:
a year with no winter
three summer solstices in a row
snowshoe hare
the boys hang out the kitchen window
to watch each hop
each twitch of the nose
flipping from brown to white
what sends them over the edge, though,
is when he washes his face with his paws
burying his forehead in his hands as if in shame
then stroking his cheeks and whiskers clean
oh my gosh he is so cute!
Alex calls him Dirty Harry
this huge gentle soul
midway between unnoticeable rock
and drift of white snow,
now in 1970s basketball player phase –
sporting tall white sweatsocks
and terrycloth headband
(his so-long ears haven’t quite browned yet)
each hop reveals those ludicrously long hind feet
that allow him to nearly hover above the snow
instead of postholing like us ungainly apes
and when he turns we glimpse his
diminutive bedraggled white-centered tail
his warm brown eye regards us calmly –
no talons or fangs:
nice enough neighbors
it seems he feels
tonight maybe he’ll sleep below the deck
his heart keeping time with ours
fire
coals sleep in ashy coats
barely breathing
until the log is laid
when the stove door shuts
a roaring wind rises
charred bits turn to sparkler
showering the unsuspecting
wedge of wood
with arcing stars
I like to watch
the big blocks stop fighting
allow the undeniable heat
to loose their internal suns
with a whoosh
they go from tame tan
to fans of blue yellow red green
all at once
consumed, crackling
throwing heat
lignin turned to light
the long tough fibers
collapsing from letting go
the metal box creaking
from trying to contain
energy years in the making
while rain thrums on the roof
hoping to put it all out
one time that was me
trying to tamp down
the urge to say something
but every time I tried to go dark
something still glowed like red hot glass
we’re stars
every one of us
burning inside
to light up the dark
In the past few days I took many photos, due to the fact that I have discovered that in a meadow near the house there are many opportunities for close-up photos of the plants, rocks, stumps, and more, so I have spent a lot of time lying on my stomach taking pictures of the dirt. Also, yesterday at breakfast looking out the window just a few feet away we found a snowshoe hare making the change from white to brown. It had white ears and white feet, but a brown body. Additionally on the deck a male hummingbird visited the feeder, and on looking back at my photos, it could have been a Ruby-throated Hummingbird: a eastern bird that is rare in Colorado. Therefore, I have many photos to share!
macro lens
sprawled out in the sage
oblivious to the mud
he’s noticing
the little wonders
that go unnoticed:
raindrops on cinquefoil fur
snail shell coils in evening light
nodding blue-pink-purple chiming bells
I could shoot pictures like this:
he says
turning in a slow circle
finding treasures in every frame
he’s taking time to register
the incalculable beauty
of this dirt we call home
