When winter comes
even the drips stop
to heed
the inward time
iced
blackened by early night
when kitchen lights glow gold
and we face ourselves
reflected in dark windows.
Category Archives: Nature
Disconnections: November 17.18
Aplomb is where you find it
in any habitat
some kitchens wear an onion
like a Hedda Hopper hat.
More thanks to the S.W. Berg photo archives.
Disconnections: November 15.18
Winter sketch
ice lines
hard and bright
crystal’d maple
catching
freezing
lamplight.
And so it starts, dear reader: winter comes on crackling ice feet, and it’s here this morning.
Disconnections: November 6.18
I cast a shadow
in my shape
but taller;
I am this
but something more
yet smaller.
Each of us is more
yet less,
his/her own bellwether,
in far-flung shadow
mindful that
we’re all in this together.
Casting our shadows today, dear reader, in this country.
Disconnections: November 3.18
My front yard may be small
but in gold it’s very big
ruddy, blushing yellows
on every branch and twig.
I raised my trusty camera
to capture golden riot
but was dissuaded from my focus
by the egotist too nigh it.
I had to zoom behind
to my neighbor’s tree instead
because nothing photobombs
like the high and mighty red.
Disconnections: November 1.18
Conundrum suffered yearly:
where to feast my eyes.
Kindling hues come surely
yet always they surprise.
Disconnections: October 29.18
When brutalities of day
give way
to candlelight of moon
do we find ease
and breathe
stillness?
Or do we ask
is it mere mask
for predator
conspirator
and illness?
Those of us who try to write struggle to find words for the anguish. Maybe there are none.
