Life With Horace

poetry & essays


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haiku for return of light with notes

morning light in eyes
beams peek past the window edge
a friend has returned

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this morning the sun returned from its winter sojourn away from my window, continuing the slow dance from solstice to equinox, right to left. shining across the bed and into my eyes. a welcome thing in the pit of winter.


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haiku for a winter saturday with notes

snowfall perfection
singular joins the many
floating from the sky

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saturdays mean one can exhale. today there are no chores or projects in an old house always in need. today will be spent with friends, mingling our joyous and foolish dogs, and gathering for a meal. there will be much laughter. the mind will stretch. a gift.


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snow terrarium

I stand stock still
snared by this
unaccustomed silence,
backlit in a pool
of warmth and kitchen light,
looking out to darkness
now made intimate
by thick falling snow,
soundproofing all
beyond its edge
until a car appears,
creeping down the mountain arm,
headlights reaching through
lace curtained flakes
wheels soundless on
the road now masked by white
a traveler almost surely blind
determination understood
and much admired by me,
we share this moment
and our quiet space
until my door is shut again
and he has passed us by

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the world is well lost and soundless when it snows here. like an infant’s view of life our boundaries shrink for a bit.


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two days on

this morning life rose earlier
by minutes that felt wider
accordioning out the day,
winter’s pearl blue light
cut by blades of gold
cast from the ridge
revealed the snow well broken in,
squirrel byways clearly marked
seed leavings on white crests,
starter crystal stalactites
lipped from the roof,
evidence of romping dogs
mouse tracks
and my own red squirrel visitor
in a quiet moment

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immediate snow is always special, but some time out from its fall the evidence of life outside the house reveals itself.


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the thrum

chords reach in with certainty
fingering my waiting bones

sometimes as undulating touch,
wispy fog that knows no barriers

gently casual hands on shoulders
arms outstretched announcing their intentions
patient for response.

then there are other passages of notes
roaring by on chariots of glory,

powerful as basso lama horns
thrumming from dharamsala
straight to the chambers of my soul,

until waves of tears
escape to fold me into beauty,

ebbing only slowly,
limpet companions to the day