page 21
in about a monththe most beloved time of year --fiddlehead season
on the ground todayfive inches of fresh snow --i hope it melts soon
tiny tracks in the snowlead to the edge of the house --a hiding place
in the side yarda naked blueberry bushno starlings in sight
i open the tinthe cats come runningbut this is mine
alone in the woodsi wonder how long berriescould keep me alive
wind-blown cottonwoodreminds me of my 8 yearsin west Albuquerque
what won't be lentwill be stolen -- what won't be givenwill be taken
snowflakes riding the wind--some mounted on empty catkinsfrom the willow
quiet nightdisturbed only by the ringingin my ears
oh, to lack fear,to once again be childlike --bold, adventuresome
early Styx --i like II, Equinox, Crystal Ball,but others I've missed
Spring had taken over,when Winter suddenly shouted,"I'm not done yet!"
beside the highwaytwo deer eat brown grasswhere snow used to be