Winter Notes 1997

I saw my first wife

in my dream last night

hair going grey,

her face showing nearly forty years

since I've seen her,

showing some hard times.

She said, "It's a good thing

for both of us I don't have a gun.

If I did, I would probably shoot you."

Yes. I was young, stupid

without moral or religious training

and I damaged some of the people

around me.

Eventually, I learned to stop

most of the uneducated destruction.

It took time

and my own guidance toward a gentle existence.

I woke up and saw the forest

standing white outside my bedroom window.

Cold fog hung densely among the trees.

Ten degrees.

I recently realized I'll never finish

everything I've made notes on.

I feel free to throw away

partial manuscripts,

pages of notes

about what I'd like to write.

Most of the day, I sort

and dispose of material possessions.

All night, fine, powdery snow falls.

I wake at daylight again, facing the forest,

covered with frozen fog,

then supporting powdered snow

on every surface.

ten below zero.

Notes from Winter, 1997 2

Sun rises into a blue mountain sky.

Dark needles of evergreens absorb heat,

flex,

release burdens of snow.

The forest dances.

Trees release snow and branches

spring toward the cold sky.

Snow plummets. Plumes of powder

drift through winter breezes.

Raven flies just above dancing trees

and speaks hoarsely of winter warming.

Fifteen degrees.