Tumalo Creek

Zero degrees.

Dog and I walk down toward open ground.

The fire nine years ago

left the grove of trees we walk through

where two streams run together.

Deepest cold gathers here.

Walk the direction frost hangs heaviest

on the trunks of spruce, fir, ponderosa pine

lodgepole pine, western hemlock,

and you're headed due cold.

Darker here, beneath old growth timber

even when the sun breaks clear

of the mountain's snowbound eastern bluffs.

I walk in deep shadow while dog,

ahead of me down the trail,

stands shining in golden sunlight.

I emerge from shadow into brilliant sunshine.

We cross our frozen bridge

above running water's

constructions and abstractions,

white ice above clear water above dark rock,

green moss, light sand spread among rocks,

patterns of winter currents.

Sunlight touches this water

rocks, fish, cold moss

shine and marvel

in active depths of winter currents.

Zero degrees. Sunshine.

Running water.

Dog and I walk toward open ground.