Sydney Lea: Hush
Does it make any sense to say I heard dead silence? No matter. I’ll simply declare that I’ve never known such quiet in the sixty years I’ve roamed these woods and hills.
Alice Friman: The Road Not Taken
I stood at the window
leaning my head, there
where the glass was cool
and looked out at the trees
bare now in January
Michael Simms: Snow
her father sitting alone in his underwear
having stripped off his blackened clothes
and leaving them on the back porch,
white skin of his legs, black dust on his face
Claude McKay: The Snow Fairy
My heart was like the weather when you came,
The wanton winds were blowing loud and long;
But you, with joy and passion all aflame,
You danced and sang a lilting summer song.
Michael Simms: House
You want to lie down in the lost field
of your courage and sleep
beside the blurred road of snow
Paul Christensen: Chapped Lips
Silence is winter’s sonata, a moody, tuneless trill of wind and creaking branches, and the muffled voice of a crow trying to call out through the blur of snowfall.
Robert Wrigley: Fifth Morning
But sun-shimmered, it’s a very nice
light to watch a day arrive through,
rainbowed red and gold and silver-blue.
Michael Simms: The Song
The young man and the older woman met at an artist’s colony. They were both in the habit of walking on the wooded paths in the afternoon, so they began … Continue reading
David Baker: Holiday Wish
a little peace, a touch of ease, another day
come round with steady light
Video: Nuisance Bear
A documentary by Jack Weisman and Gabriela Osio Vanden, follows polar bears as they clash with a gaggle of tourists, wildlife officers, and the residents of a small Canadian town.
Paul Christensen: The Snow It Snoweth Every Day
I’m not complaining too loudly. The Ukrainians are out there on the hills waiting to get into Poland, and the snow is pelting their thin coats and caps and making the kids squirm up against their moms.
Paul Christensen: The Rhymes of Nature
Old snow. It’s like the linens piled up in a corner of a thrift shop, the kind passed down from grandmother to mother and then to a daughter who regarded … Continue reading
Paul Christensen: While Boston Sleeps
The day proceeded to turn over heavily, with the sun appearing to be bolted to a chink of sky between morose gray clouds. Poor Boston, poor humble Providence, all those rivets of history to our genesis as a nation graying in the ancient countryside.
Fred Everett Maus: White Light 2020
I throw some seeds onto the snow and the dark-eyed juncos are here, very busy.
