Tag: Winter

Footprints

These cold hills stand unconcerned of what walks beneath them. Snow, that made it through the day’s rain, will be covered by night’s newest layer of white. But here today, the rain collects upon the trail. Footprints lie scattered. There are recent ones, still…

Wet Pine Needles

Running the brittle floor—upon leaves settled to soil. With mild hands wandering—through air and pressed sunlight. Becoming branches—breaching the film of moist sky. Clinging to winter’s sun—lucent thoughts, fictile. Moving with the wildness—of the warm, fragile body. Its abstractions of molds—ravines, dips, and death….

The High Lakes

The high lakes, frozen, clear, Distort reflections of the mountain.   Old men with trekking poles Filter through the forest.   All with some form of Achilles And Homeric hunger pangs.   Drawn to recite soliloquies To the unmoving cold.   Return to the…

Under Clear Skies

The ground is the hardest clay Groups of limbs follow its path Huddle in the sun Knees hidden, ankles astray Plot on how to tiptoe along cushions of leaves.  

Almost Spring On The Clackamas

The forest is last to relinquish winter. Snow still sticking between its toes, it has thousands of shadows and shades, ways to hide from sunlight. On these days of last melt, snow packs down hard on the unexposed trail, creating a thin slice of…

The Ledge

Out on the ledge, the snow hushes the wild. This kind of quiet soothes while it scares Strange mixture of awareness. A lone northern harrier is the only singer. She strafes the powder with one beat of her wings Eyes on everything, including me….

Dab Of Warmth

There are mild spots between winter’s beating of grayness Where breaths, in ease, are breathed…gloves are placed in pockets or lost on streets of snow Mixed in that scattered brown batter of orphaned leaves. The sun appears as a stranger, speaking a forgotten tongue, yet familiar tone Trying to…

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