There is nothing green, more or less, about winter; nor more or less black and white. The black of these blue mountains shadow down our yellow valley winter (summer, spring and fall.) The red dusk and dawn prophecy more or less tells the weather of our each new day a hope winter (summer, spring and … Continue reading The Green of Winter is Gray
Love Weather This Winter
Chilly as after-this reception— Cold as a whenever shoulder— Frosty as forget-it’s smile— Frigid with never embraces— Glacial as if.
Fable of the Eternal Round
What Winter said was so flagrant in its wrongness that Willow leaned away and gave a polite but windy cough. Clover crumpled up her bright face and green hands and turned rusty brown. Grass, like Willow, leaned away. Sheep huddled against the awful wind, turned their fleecy bums and ducked their heads and scurried off … Continue reading Fable of the Eternal Round
Winter is Here
Winter is here, but it isn’t on the Cape, hot and clear seventy-two with patches of sun, no snow, the seagulls from Seattle have moved in and settled to share the festivities of krill with wayward penguins sunbathing on the beach. Winter is here; but not on the Cape of Horn, forties and fifties with … Continue reading Winter is Here
Dawn, great joy! hope! awakening! though waking to sunless blizzard.
Eleven Days ‘Till Spring
There is silence greater than waiting for chickadee-dee-dee in winter-ruined thickets Posted in response to the Ragtag Daily Prompt tune
The Nadir of Neutral
As far as I can see is snow with just the darker gray of rock and, under the mountain fog, the dark of darker fir and pine. and near my window the willow the leafless vibrant brown of willow. A challenge to the Ragtag Community word of the day, iridescence. It is just not a … Continue reading The Nadir of Neutral
Storm is Over
So much sun, so much snow, so much wind, so cold! no skis, so walking!
The Zen of Shoveling Snow in Suburbia
shoveling wind-whipped snow, yet still, from the apple tree, chick-a-dee-dee-dee.
What Does He See this Winter?
old man’s eyes flatline over winter drifts in empty aspen grove.