Life With Horace

poetry & essays

Tag Archives: snow


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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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moonset

the still bright reach
of setting moon on snow
slender plum tree shadows
reaching from the west,
coyote yips and calls
caroming off the mountain
through black ice
ribbon wrapped woods,
snaking through
my open window arrow slit,
rousing the defenders
of this sleeping winter bastion
to make their voices heard
our pennant flown in answer

________________________________
nothing gets dogs up from sleep to full on barks faster than the coyote pack at night.


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lemonade vignettes

even though the days
have turned a corner
and the sun shines boldly
on my pillow once again,
I am stalled in
longbone chilling thoughts
lusting after green and heat
until bursting out to tramp
the blues away, I hear
the white pines talk,
waving over snowbound roots,
the creaking cold of boots
on crystal flakes,
see the angled sun
illuminating dusted white,
a swirl of snow
blown off a tree,
a swarm of frozen gnats
in winter air,
a multitude of hungry
upside down buff teardrops,
our mourning doves in
bundled rows awaiting seed,
ruby pendant berries,
blinks of color over monochrome,
faithful evergreens
protecting buried nubs of spring,
I turn for home
longing sated once again,
and know I will regret their
passing


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but it is

not my loss I thought
a friend’s friend gone
under snow
sent down the mountain
by pleasure seekers
without thought
of lives below
or dreadful consequence

this sudden gap
where once a friend
stood in the heart
is feathered now
with small things
precious bits
of cloth or lace
dug from the snow
song and image
remnants of a
rich creative spirit
its light now dimmed
but not to be
forgotten, no

all sensed and felt
by strangers like myself
who at a distance
mourn her leaving.

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the loss of a creative soul is universally felt, whether we realize it or not