Tag: winter

poetry

internal spring arrives

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internal spring arrives

another blue sky day
not stuck in sand
not sickened or burned
all of us able to marvel
at Bryce’s delicate turrets
white snow green pines peach spires
grey caprock and blazing blue

we wend our way decision by decision
to Swasey’s Beach:
temps in the 70’s
finally in Chacos
the Green River a grey roar
our feet and dog crusted with silvered sand
finishing Wintering
beer in hand by campfire light

it’s finally spring on our internal calendars
we have turned the year
as Katherine May says
there’s a palpable end to dormancy
we feel our seedcoats split

poetry

what’s missing

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what’s missing

I can see the wind waving the trees
but can’t hear it

the cabin walls tight
though not warm –

we need the crackle
of fire

poetry

Imbolc / Candlemas / Groundhog Day

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St. Brigid's Cross

Imbolc / Candlemas / Groundhog Day

tomorrow we’ll be one day closer to spring than winter
though subzero when we wake
but we still won’t know where the spark started

my husband walks Washington
and says the burn looks like Syria
the devastated portion on the news

I stay away out of respect
and maybe out of not wanting the images in my eyes
and also simply out of staying out of the way

there are enough complications everywhere
without this body adding one more

this cross-quarter night
what safe candle can I light that leaves no ash
what flame might I set in my head
or milk in my hands to divine our future
what keening might heal the blackened hills
for we’ve no rushes to weave in this dry place

poetry

mourning cloak

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Owen took this black bear photo.

mourning cloak

ragged wings still shimmer
in weak sun
against all expectations
weathering another winter
squeezed in the tight clasp
of bark and trunk

how sweet that makes
today’s taste of willow nectar
just broken from bud

poetry

Moon Creek Breakup

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Moon Creek Breakup

it was explosive
I looked up from my book
to find the white mass had caved in
it clogged the stream
and the creek gobbled it up
licking the white grey
smoothing it like a snow cone
spinning and tumbling it
until it had been consumed

a few minutes later
the next performance
the creek first more constricted
then more free

this will go on all spring
heat + light = thaw
all the frozen forms in this world
eventually expand to breaking
collapse from their own need to flow
go rushing headlong
away from where they were bound

poetry

one month isolation

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one month isolation

now there is time
to witness winter melting
to sit and listen to icicles drip
to watch snow go to water to wind

and yet
there is still not enough time
to do all that should be done
the hours are filled by so much less now
we forget how to be busy
accept going slow

poetry

snowsmoke

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snowsmoke

in the white woods
veils of snowsmoke
descend like drapes
unfurling from conifer crowns
cascading with a flourish and fizz
that sets the whole atmosphere asparkle
heightens the drama
anywhere you look
a cloud of crystals
may breathe down your neck
the very next moment

magical shimmer
and cold uncomfortable reality –
that’s how it is these days –
you gotta find a way
to make room for both

poetry

snow bombs

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snow bombs

sometimes you hear the womp
of a pile of plush snow
plunging from the treetops
down onto a deep drift first

other times a curtain
of sifted snow waves across the sky
like a veil between the trees

every time I look for the chickaree
or chickadee who precipitated it
there’s nothing

it seems the work of snow spirits
walkers on the wind
beings keeping watch over us
who we can only know
by what else they move
snow ghosts sneezing up
soft clouds of hushed white debris

poetry

waiting for snow

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waiting for snow

all day
that tingle of anticipation
getting things done
while they still can be
groceries bought
wood split
sun basked in
walk taken

now all that’s left
is for the wind to shift
clouds to fuzz the sky
and the slow white moths
to begin to tuft the trees

we’re waiting for permission
to withdraw from the world

poetry

denning bears

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denning bears

tonight we will sleep
each in our own places
the deep slumber
of denning bears
so warm in our thick black coats
in our cozy hollows
of thick white snow
where no wind stirs
we will dream
calm safe dreams
of honey in unguarded hives
and salmon that jump
into our open mouths
trusting that when winter
eases its grasp
and it’s time to
muscle our way
out of the drifts
the sun will be there to warm us
the roots will be ready to nourish us
and our ancestors have already made
clear paths we can follow
to finally drink fresh water
and feel the crisp clean air
settling deep into our lungs
until all our old stale breaths
are wrung right out
yes, you and I,
each in our quiet den,
a mountain or more apart,
we trust implicitly
that there will still be a world
worth waking for
and our cubs will be
just fine